What Else Can We Do?
by puddle-of-lemonade
Summary: Bonded together and changed into something not-so human can make going back to the Wizarding World a little tricky for the trio. . . but what else can they do when Voldemort is out for their blood and they have people to protect? H/Hr/R threesome, preHBP
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

**Name: **What Else Can We Do?

**Warnings: **threesome (HP/HrG/RW), swearing, yaoi, het and other things I haven't decided on yet :P

- - - -

It was the start of the summer before sixth year that changed it all.

Harry Potter sat on his windowsill of the spare room in number four Privet Drive, looking out at the full moon rising in the night sky. He let out a long sigh, and hugged his knees tighter. There were no owls bearing letters in sight.

He had not heard from _anyone_. He had sent many letters and none came back. He didn't know what to do with himself – he was filled with worry, fear, anger and most of all: guilt. He was a mess, a tumble of emotions. What if something had happened to Hermione and Ron? Was Voldemort on the move? Sirius. Oh, Sirius . . .

His fists clenched, green eyes blinking the threatening tears away and wild black hair falling across them. He had decided long ago that crying would never change anything – that it was useless. He would _not_ cry. Not again.

The Boy-Who-Lived gritted his teeth. The thoughts he had since the day he had been sent away to the Dursley's again came back to him. Why did Dumbledore send him here, instead of being trained? Why were there no answers, no explanations? In his current state he would be useless against Voldemort – so why the isolation? He shook his head violently.

_What is the old coot playing at?_

Dumbledore had told him that being within the blood-wards he would be safe. But he was not so sure of that . . . he had seen, no, _felt_ the presence of his new watchers: the Death Eaters. They knew where he was, his position and his lack of protection. And they flaunted it.

The Order Members had disappeared not long ago for some unknown reason though he suspected it was because of a certain headmaster. He felt incredibly vulnerable as he couldn't use magic because of the stupid law of Underage Magic. He swore harshly, not even noticing it came out in Parsel-Tongue.

He wanted to go home - to Hogwarts.

In the castle, he would not be cut off; he would have his two best friends at his sides and the Wizarding World in reach. Sometimes, when he retreated far into his mind, he thought that the past few years had been a long dream and many a time he wondered when he was going to wake up in his old cupboard under the stairs. But the scars Umbridge left on his hand would push those thoughts away. Not to mention the eyes constantly watching him from afar.

Harry gripped the bars of his window, trying to shake them. He wanted to scream at everyone, everything – to sob, _no_, not that, _never_ that – and hurt something. He didn't want to be alone, locked up in his room for days on end and fed food through a cat-flap. He wanted warmth, contact.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to ignore the shaking of his body and crawled away to his bed. He lay there, curled up in a ball, holding himself. He winced when he pressured the bruises that littered his body. Uncle Vernon had noticed no mail had come for the 'freak' and took it upon himself to 'finally beat some discipline' into Harry. The boy could not do anything, no magic nor ask for help as none would come.

He didn't know who he wanted to kill the most: Voldemort, Dumbledore, or Uncle Vernon.

The dark-haired boy sat up, leaning back against the wall and head resting in his arms. He didn't know what to think. He was scared of the link he had with Voldemort more than ever . . . what if Voldemort used him? He could hurt, he could kill without a choice. Harry shuddered at the thought.

He closed his eyes. Relax, he needed to do that. The boy breathed in deeply and out, regulating his intake. Slowly, some of the tension left his limbs, his body as he concentrated on his magic and his core. Meditation was an idea he got from a muggle book he had found.

Green eyes flashed open when he heard a chime echo in the still night. A thudding filled his ears, so close, so intimate that he wanted to gasp. Harry glanced down – the noise was from his own heart, he was sure. His eyes were wide.

_What the hell is going on?_

It was then that his chest pulled physically forward by the next powerful beat – it left him breathless and disorientated. Harry reached out shakily, trying to support himself.

He gripped his chest at the next painful beat and screamed a silent scream.

Helplessness filled him. No. No!

His will spurred his magic on as it flowed around him, completely encompassing him. He fell forward, hands breaking his fall. For a second he was confused, his hands had not met with the mattress of his bed but with stone. Through the pain, he vaguely realised that he was in a circle, one point of a triangle carved into rock.

Another beat, another wave of nearly unbearable pain swept through him. Oh, how he wanted to move, but his body seemed not to reply – lost in the mounting pain and foreign, _alien_ magic that took over him. It seeped into every corner of his mind, his body and latched onto his very own magic. He had never felt so _violated_ before.

His body was lifted, feet hovering above the ground – chest out, arms behind and head thrown back. He had a fleeting glance of two other shapes not far from him, but he was not sure . . . his vision was a blur at best, in and amongst the sweeping intensity of pain.

His back arched when a beam of light shot forth from below and covered him – he was blinded, suspended in nothingness. For a brief moment, a lull set in the static of charged magic, a calm before the fury of a storm.

A spark of energy spiked agonizingly in him, then another.

Then it _unleashed_.

Magic sliced open a path into his mind, letting two others in. They attached to his core and clutched. Harry's body stiffened rigidly in shock. He was split, parts of his mind thrust into two others – connecting with the cores like them to him.

The three magicks meshed together violently, jarring, warring . . .

They collapsed and darkness took them.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

**Warnings: **threesome (HP/HrG/RW), swearing, yaoi, het and other things I haven't decided on yet :P

- - -

_The three magicks meshed together violently, jarring, warring . . . _

_They collapsed and darkness took them._

- - - -

Warmth. Comfortable warmth.

It was the first thing Harry became aware of as he rose out of slumber. He sighed contentedly, not really comprehending or thinking _why_ the warmth was there, but decided it was a nice to wake up to all the same. He snuggled closer the soft . . . _thing_ that was his pillow, which rose up and down regularly.

He really liked being held. The warmth wrapped around him from behind felt like that. A kind of squishy blanket. He sleepily tried to count how many times he had been embraced, but gave up as he knew it was a small amount anyhow. He just wanted to sleep anyway.

A sigh, a soft moan.

A pillow doesn't make a sound like that.

Harry blinked, and reached up to rub his eyes clear only to find his hand clasped in another's. The dark-haired boy stilled and stared – his vision clearing. Slowly, he drew his fingers away – senses on high alert and mixed with confusion. He tried to move, but an arm held him place. He stiffened . . . someone was behind him.

He pried the arm off him and rolled away, to get a better view on what the _fuck_ was happening. He brought his gaze up . . . and froze.

Before him lay his two best friends. His eyes widened – his two _naked_ best friends, to be exact.

Hermione lay half on her back, brown hair splashed out and Ron rested his head in the crook of her neck, breath ghosting her skin. A blush blossomed on his cheeks and he was horrified with himself when he found it was _very _difficult to move his gaze.

Harry stopped, getting redder by the second. Ron was the one that held him, pulling him closer to his bare chest protectively. Hermione was the one that cradled his head, fingers running through his hair . . .

While he tried feebly to push away the image of their nakedness, did he realise that his situation in regard to clothing could mirror theirs. He gulped, then glanced down.

_Shit! Fuck!_

He hated it when he was right in times like this.

It was only then did he look up and at his surroundings in his desperate need for clothes (he could almost hear Moody berating him on his lack of 'constant vigilance!' – what a turn off . . .). They were in a cavern of some sort. The light shining down on him was natural, coming from an opening from above and other shafts were similar but smaller than the one they lay under.

The magic of the place was almost tangible, achingly close and ghosted his skin at times. Harry took in a shaky breath – Hogwarts could never compare to this place in magical intensity. It was insane!

His eyes fell downwards, to the stone floor and the strange design etched into it. There was a triangle, each point a circle and runes swirled along them. Memories rose – his each heartbeat filled with pain, the violating magic, the way he couldn't move and the others that clutched his core.

Harry's eyes narrowed.

_Was that a ritual? _

He fingered the etchings thoughtfully. Were Ron and Hermione the other two that he had a fleeting glance of? But where would've the caster been then? He shook his head. Too many things, too many questions and no clues he could find.

_Wait-_

A shriek entered his ears and effectively cut off his thoughts. Green eyes turned to the sound and found a very red and very distressed Hermione. The brown-haired girl was trying to cover up as much as she could, which wasn't a lot. Hands too small and breasts too big, he mused. Then he mentally smacked himself on the head – he couldn't think like that! It was Hermione he was thinking of!

'Turn away!' she cried at them. Ron looked like a tomato, red all over.

Even when he was blushing as much as she, Harry said, 'I'll turn once you do, 'Mione.'

Hermione's eyes flickered over to him and went even redder – she turned a second later, her shoulders shaking.

So this is how they found themselves, backs to each other and thoroughly embarrassed. For Harry, it was harder to disperse the image of them naked because they were very much present.

Minutes ticked by as they dealt with their own thoughts, until Hermione broke the silence. 'Who here has a wand?'

Harry couldn't help but snicker.

'No, really,' Harry could almost _hear_ the glare in her voice.

'I don't have mine,' Ron murmured a moment later, words laced with panic. Harry stilled, realising that he hadn't even _thought_ of his wand yet . . . Damn naked images. Too distracting.

'Me neither,' Harry replied, as he tried to brush his hair out of his face. He hadn't seen any near them when he had been inspecting the etchings –so where could they be? Fear began trickle in him – what if they didn't have wands? What if they had been destroyed in the ritual thing? How could they defend themselves without magic? What if-

'So we don't have wands, any clothes or food and stuck in cave, right?' Hermione said, a little bitterly, 'How the hell do we get ourselves in situations like this, again?'

'Not sure about the food part, but about right,' Harry said, stretching his legs out on the cold stone. It was strangely refreshing to wear nothing, even though he felt vulnerable in a way. Plus lack of clothes made things interesting . . . Harry shook his head. Why was he thinking like that suddenly anyway?

_Keep you mind out of the gutter, Harry. _

'-you were the first one awake, right Harry?' he heard Hermione ask as he paused his musing. Harry blinked and wanted to turn, but was reminded by a sudden breeze that it was a little too airy below his non-existent belt.

'Harry?'

'Yeah? Oh, sorry. Yeah, I was.'

'Did you notice anything?'

Harry leaned back, a grin widening on his face and wishing more than ever he could see their faces. 'Loaded question, eh?'

Hermione spluttered, 'Whatever do you mean-'

'It was a nice way to wake up; we should try it again sometime.' Harry said, smirking. Why was flirting coming so naturally to him now, when he was so dismal at it with Cho?

The shocked silence was worth his own sheepish embarrassment. Who knew flirting and teasing could be so fun?

'Did we . . . uhm . . . do-do anything last night?' Ron asked softly, his nervousness peaked so much so that he stuttered.

Harry froze – the idea of any sexual happenings between them seemed so foreign. He hadn't even thought of such a thing. Teasing them about it was one thing, but _actual _acts was another. A sudden fear of the future of their friendship gripped his gut.

'I-I don't think so . . .' Harry took a deep breath, 'Remember what happened, right? We collapsed.'

'But what happened afterwards is a mystery. That ritual could've affected us . . . why else would we be n-na-naked?' Hermione whispered, curling into herself slightly.

'Well, the magic could've burned the clothes off us,' Harry said a little too quickly. 'There are no clothes in sight, so how could we have thrown them off each other?'

'Perhaps,' was all he got in reply from her.

'What do you think, Ron?'

'I really don't know. Blimey, mate,' Harry felt a strange sense of peace fill him at the last word, 'all I know is that I'm confused, naked and hungry.' Ron said with a shrug.

Hermione snorted, 'You're always hungry, Ron.'

Harry cut off Ron's retort (which no doubt would've been witty and mature as always), 'Guys, we gotta figure this out – so stop bickering for once, kay?'

The dark-haired boy could feel the glares sent his way.

'Why don't we look around?' Harry suggested, getting up to stand. 'Finding out our surroundings and all.'

'Good plan, mate.' Ron said as he scrambled up. Harry took a deep breath and wondered why he felt warm inside when Ron uttered the word 'mate.' It was beyond strange . . . and unsettling. His heart was beating a little faster.

He heard Hermione stand up with a sigh – she was far too quiet to be good and the worry inside him sprang up. More than ever, he wanted to look at her and see how she was. But they stood there, backs to each other for a moment, before they headed off in their own direction.

The Boy-Who-Lived followed the sound of trickling water he faintly heard – green eyes roving the scene before him. The cavern was so natural, in nearly every sense, the air was clear and fresh, so much so it kind of hurt to breathe. The layers of rock, stone and sediment were dull, yet colourful in an organic way. Harry felt alien in this place, artificial.

A tiny waterfall fell down smooth gray stone and curved its way to a small pond. The water was azure and clear. One could see each and every pebble in its depths. The sight amazed Harry and he crouched down next to the water and felt the cool, crisp temperature with his fingertips. He reached down and cupped his hands, collecting water to sip.

A soft footstep made him look up.

Harry stilled, his eyes widening slightly at what he saw. An old man stood not far from him, his blue eyes locked with his. A silvery short beard hung loose and hair that fell down to his mid-back was taken into a leather strap. His tattered robes were a plain grey.

'Greetings, young'un,' he said, his voice raspy as held out a cloak to him.

Harry just stared at him – looking at the man that was too similar to Albus Dumbledore for his comfort.

_What the hell is happening?!_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

**Warnings: **threesome (HP/HrG/RW), swearing, yaoi, het and other things I haven't decided on yet :P

- - -

**Replies:**

**Padfoot2304**: There is a reason why they go into a relationship so fast :) you'll find out soon enough! My story 'Modus' is a very strange in regard to pairings – lets just say there is a lot of Harry/Hermione/Ron in it too, as well as HarryDraco - and sometimes, at the same time! :)

- - -

_Harry just stared at him – looking at the man that was too similar to Albus Dumbledore for his comfort. _

_What the hell is happening?!_

- - -

Fast landing footfalls sounded, getting louder by the second, 'Harry!'

Hermione stopped at the black-haired boy's side, panting slightly – she had seen his situation and the old man before him. The man just watched them, the cloak still in his outstretched hand.

Green eyes fell on her - Hermione's wary brown eyes were narrowed – focused on the man with an intense fire, her small hands clenched into fists at her side, her body tense and alert. The fact she was not self-conscience of her nakedness showed how protective she was and how she was prepared to do whatever it took to keep them safe. Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her . . . she had never looked so beautiful, so deadly . . . he felt like he was bursting with pride.

_Wait . . . beautiful? She's my best friend!_

Another part of his mind countered that she was still beautiful, all the same! There was nothing wrong with knowing that and admiring her . . .

_She's Ron's!_

Nobody owns her, it berated. No one ever will. Not even _you_.

'Headmaster?' he heard her quietly ask.

The old man blinked, then let a loud guffaw and promptly sat down on a rock. 'I do look a lot like me brother, eh?' he said with an amused smile and a thick accent. 'Aberforth Dumbledore at your service.' He gave a little incline of his head. 'Mr Potter an' Miss Granger, I presume?'

The two adolescents stared at him, calculating eyes watching him. After a moment they nodded their heads.

'You can come out now, Mr Weasley. I know you're there – no point in sneakin' about,' the old man said jovially, turning to a slightly flushed Ron. The read-head walked up to his two best friends' sides, mumbling under his breath something along the lines of 'checking if they were safe.' Harry had the weird urge to go '_awwww_' but he suppressed it with a confused frown. His hormones were _not_ normal today. They were acting suspiciously like a girl's would – he shuddered.

'As wonderful as our first meetin' has been – I think the lack of clothes can make it a bit awkward, so if you please, take the cloaks.' Aberforth continued, taking out two other cloaks with a flourish. He beamed at them.

Hermione frowned and simply stated, 'How do we know you're telling the truth? Those cloaks could be cursed.'

The old man chuckled, 'Good to know you're takin' your safety into your own hands. Good, good . . .' he looked into Harry's eyes. 'So, what if I tell you somethin' only a few people in the world know about Albus? Will that secure me identity with you?'

'Like what?' Hermione asked slowly. She was painfully aware of her absent wand.

'Like, the fact that Albus was shaggin' Gellert Grindelwald in the summer after his graduation. Quite rigorously, as far as I can remember. I couldn't sleep for a week because of the noise,' the wizened wizard said with a grin. His blue eyes found Harry's. 'Am I right, Mr Potter, or not?'

Harry would've laughed at Hermione and Ron's expressions of shock and disbelief if wasn't for the tense situation they were in – in fact it was hard not too . . . stress did funny things to the brain, he guessed.

'He's right, guys,' Harry sighed, getting up from his crouch.

'How do you know that, mate?' Ron spluttered, the idea and image of their Headmaster in a relationship hadn't really been comprehended or sunk in properly by the look of it. Let alone that Dumbledore was _gay_.

'I fell into one of Dumbledore's pensieves and saw his memories. . . .' he whispered, 'By the look on his face after he pulled me out, it was a big secret – one that couldn't be found out.'

'This is Aberforth then,' Harry concluded, never letting his eyes leave the man once. The wizard had a strange aura about him, dissimilar to his brother's but yet, alike in ways. Just as sneaky and manipulative as his brother, he was. Harry could just tell.

'So that's settled – but I ask you, young'uns . . . are you so sure of each other's identities? Harry Potter could in fact not be here, so I could be dangerous,' the old man murmured, blue eyes hardening, 'This world we live in is riddled with deceit.'

The three glanced at each other – Ron wore a surprised expression, Hermione a thoughtful one and Harry wary. The bushy-haired girl frowned, then opened her mouth, 'Harry, in third year, how did we save Snuffles?'

'Time-turner, one you got from McGonagall to help your studies,' the boy answered, 'The Headmaster all but directly told us what to do.' His green eyes brightened when he realised what she was doing.

'Ron, you had a rat – what was its name?' she asked, turning to the red-head, dark brown eyes falling upon him. Ron felt like he was just a vexing book under her nose, one that needed to be completely found out – needless to say, it was unnerving.

'Scabbers – but he's really Peter Pettigrew,' Ron replied, looking at the floor and trying to hide his flushed cheeks. Her being naked didn't help his thought-process. Not. One. Bit.

'Hermione, what happened to Hagrid's little problem in first year?' Harry asked, not looking at her.

'We sent Norbert off with some of Charlie's friends at midnight,' Hermione answered without a thought. They were slowly clustering together again, now relaxing in each other's presence.

'Let that be a lesson, you three,' Aberforth said, clasping his weathered hands together and resting them on his knees, 'Things are not always as they seem. An' you _must_ be certain of what is real, an' what is not. In war, negligence results in death.'

Harry stared at the man, he lacked Dumbledore's half-moon glasses but the effect off looking a pair of glasses was evident. He was serious. And critical. Harry didn't know how he had done it, but Aberforth had just taken the place of a mentor very quickly – they were all listening to him closely.

Suddenly, an exasperated smile formed on the older wizard's lips, 'Well, can you stop teasing an old man?' He nodded towards the cloaks he had draped over a stone.

The trio blinked, then different variants of red spread on their faces. They scrambled to the stone and quickly slipped into the cloaks. Harry immediately disliked the coarse material and he felt uncomfortable with it on. _Really_ uncomfortable.

The boy frowned. Shouldn't he be relieved that he had any sort or clothing? He felt nothing but annoyance.

Harry glanced at his best friends – they were puzzled. Ron wore a grimace. Hermione was shuffling. He wasn't alone in his discovery.

'So,' Aberforth said, 'do any of you know why the hell we are here? I certainly don't.'

- - -


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

**Warnings: **threesome (HP/HrG/RW), swearing, yaoi, het and other things I haven't decided on yet :P

- - -

'Do you know where 'here' is, sir?' Hermione asked, sitting down on the edge of the pond, her legs crossed. Her two best friends followed and sat on either side of her. Harry was ghosting his fingertips over the surface of the trickling water, relishing in the feeling – he concentrated on it in attempt to forget his frustration. The cloak was horrible!

'I have an inkling,' the old man replied as he rested his elbows on his knees and played with his beard, 'Though your guess is as good as mine.'

'With all respect, we haven't had much time to guess, sir. So anything is better,' Hermione said, biting her lower lip.

'There are places in our world that are connected to magic itself – they hold it, they act as a core an' stabilise the wild magic. Thus, with such places, they need to be protected an' many magical creatures do this,' Aberforth explained, letting his eyes rove the cavern, 'Many think that the magical creatures of our world were once human, but changed over time due to their closeness to the wild magic.'

'So you think we're in one of those places?' Ron asked in awe.

'I'm not sure, but perhaps we are.'

'It would explain the intensity of the magic here . . .' Harry murmured. He looked up to see Aberforth's surprised expression.

'You can feel it too? I never thought one so young could . . .' the old man trailed off for a moment then locked his gaze with the black-haired boy's. 'Harry, have you always been sensitive to the levels of magic?'

Harry frowned slightly, 'Kind of, I guess. But I've never felt it so intensely before though.'

Aberforth sat back, a strange light in his eyes. 'Interesting.'

Harry did not like the word 'interesting' – because it described his life pretty well. He scowled. 'Why?'

'Hmmm? Oh, because such sensitivity shows your own levels of magic you hold . . . one could say that you are strong, Harry. Very strong, indeed. Or . . .'

'Or?'

'You may have been changed.'

The ritual immediately came into their minds and their eyes widened. After a few shared, worried glances – they turned to Aberforth, who was watching them closely.

'Did you see what happened when we first came here, sir?' Hermione asked, eyes flickering to the etchings Harry had seen.

'No, I was taken from my home to here not long ago,' he murmured, tugging at his beard. 'What happened?' His blue eyes were apprehensive.

'I'm not sure of what happened to Ron and Hermione,' Harry started as he straightened, 'but I'll go first, kay?'

His best friends nodded.

'I heard a chime first, then my heartbeat thudded in my ears – I heard nothing else. Then there was pain, with each beat . . . I couldn't move or speak. The next thing I was aware of was the stone beneath me, not the mattress of my bed. There was magic, so much of it . . .' Harry trailed off, then brought his gaze to the others.

Hermione understood his wordless plea for help, 'I remember being lifted by a column of light and being utterly consumed by a magic.' The girl shivered. 'It didn't leave anything out – my mind, body and magic.'

'I was blinded and the magic was like static for a moment before it burst. I don't know what happened after this as my mind felt like it was being split open,' Ron said taking his cue after the girl. 'I'm not sure . . . but it felt like these other _things_ latched onto me. It was painful to say the least,' he shrugged sheepishly. 'Sorry if we're not much of a help, Mr Dumbledore.'

'Please call me Aberforth,' the old man said absently, not noticing the blush that Ron sported at the comment. 'I wonder, I wonder . . .'

'What do you think happened to us, sir?' Hermione quietly asked, 'Were we 'changed' as you said? What did the magic . . . _do_ to us?' Her voice sounded thick, like she was going to cry.

Harry and Ron shared a glance. At the same time, they moved closer and wrapped their arms around the bushy-haired girl. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed and rested her head against Ron's chest. A timid smile crept onto her face and her eyes darted between them once, before they fell back on Aberforth.

Harry lay his chin on her small shoulder and started when his skin tingled at the contact. His body immediately relaxed at that small skin to skin touch. The green-eyed boy hadn't realised how tense he was before. His frustration with the cloak mounted for some reason.

'We think it was a ritual of some kind,' Harry said, tightening his hold on the girl when he felt her shake. He didn't like it when their strong Hermione was like this . . . _wait. Theirs? Hermione wasn't his, nor Ron's – let alone theirs!_

'A ritual you say? But that would've needed a caster . . .' Aberforth's eyes widened and he got up and rushed to the etchings with surprising speed for one of his age. He knelt down and touched the runes, his mouth forming a few inaudible words.

'The very magic here commenced it . . . but that's impossible,' Aberforth said softly.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Oh, lots of stuff happened in the next chapter . . . –evil grin- a little angsting from Harry and Ron/Hermione loving to look forward to! :)


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

- - -

Thank you - Suinitram, ProtegoNox, arialee, Estry, Padfoot2304, Luna Ming, laica-27, medfanofreading, actofwill15, chelle20, Dreamer22, EOSVU4eva for your reviews! –smiles warmly-

- - -

Hermione silently padded on the rough stone beneath her feet and across the expanse of the cavern with swift ease. Shadows and moonlight danced before her – night had fallen quickly, making her wonder where they were in the world . . . Her bare feet felt raw and refreshed in way, one which she relished. With each step, flesh to earth, she felt more alive than she had ever been – connected to a basic and primal root. She felt grounded – linked to everything around her.

The girl shook her head – was that how the magic had changed them? Maybe it was too early to tell . . .

She stilled, brown eyes staring at the gleaming surface of the pond Harry had come across. The moon's silver light illuminated the rippling surface brightly, bouncing off onto the curving side of the cavern, where it continued its movements weakly. The pond and waterfall were the only source of water they had, they had found out when they decided to explore the cavern – for a way out of it.

But they had not found an escape. The cavern was completely caved off.

And the etchings from the ritual had shred no light on what had happened.

Hermione shivered – how were they going to get out and back to the wizarding world? Hogwarts was going to start at the end of the summer . . . Voldemort was active. There would be raids, people dying and being tortured . . . The Order would be searching for them frantically! She couldn't hold back her worry. What would her parents think when she wasn't there in the morning? They were muggles, so they wouldn't know how to contact Dumbledore or any other wizards and witches. They would think the worst and panic!

She stifled a sob and rubbed her eyes fiercely. She had cried enough already! She didn't want to be weak in front of the boys or Mr Dumbledore . . . a witch could be as strong as a wizard, she told herself as she clenched her hand into a fist.

Hermione peered over her shoulder, at the dark shapes of the three men silhouetted by the fire. Aberforth had not found any wood for a fire, so he had created a magical flame to cook some food.

Hermione was sure that all of them were starving, as she was.

The bushy-haired girl sighed, trying to ignore the sharp gnawing of her stomach. She didn't _really_ want to eat the fish Aberforth had caught and was busy roasting. The very idea of it made her queasy.

Hermione turned, and headed back to the three men – noting her conflicting emotions had not settled. She had left their circle around the fire earlier to be alone, to think – but now she didn't want either. It made no sense . . .

Heat enveloped her, making her skin shiver in reaction – like it was welcoming the warmth. The girl sat down with a barely concealed sigh, her brown eyes turned orange by the flickering flames before them.

The three men did not comment on her hasty return, for which she was thankful.

'It's finished,' Aberforth said, pulling the fish away from the flame. Hermione stared at the roasted morsel in morbid fascination. After watching the old man check the meal he had prepared, she shook herself. She hadn't had a problem with fish before – even liked it – so why was she reacting like this now?

The girl glanced at her two friends in curiosity. Ron was frowning at the fish Aberforth had handed him – Harry didn't even look in its direction, almost keeping it at arms length.

A fish, a little burnt near the end, was placed in her hand. Hermione looked up to see Aberforth give her a kind smile, before tucking into his meal.

Confused looks were shared by the trio.

'What's wrong, young'uns?' the old wizard asked, finally noticing that he was alone in the creation of eating-noises. Hermione felt a little shamed when she saw his worried expression. 'My cooking can't be that bad, surely.'

'No, it isn't that . . .' Hermione said, floundering. She didn't know how to explain why she found the idea of eating the fish distasteful. It smelled wonderful, but it did not tempt or quench her hunger at all.

'How to explain . . .' Harry murmured, green eyes rising and landing on his best friends.

Ron blinked, then took in a deep breath. 'It's almost as if my body doesn't . . . need it anymore. It wants something else as nourishment.'

Three pairs of perplexed eyes fell onto the old man.

Aberforth was staring thoughtfully into the fire, stroking his short beard. His blue eyes, so similar to his brother's, were hooded by shadows.

'Have you three noticed anything different about your persons? Please, tell me everything',' the old man said quietly and somewhat compelling. 'I think its time to find out what the wild magic has done to you.'

Hermione shivered. She was torn, not sure if she wanted to know the truth or not. Brown curls slipped across her face, as she turned to look at her friends. Their expressions were serious, though they seemed slightly impatient. The girl sighed – maybe it wasn't for her to decide – she didn't want to be selfish.

'This cloak,' Harry began, 'has been pure torture ever since I got into it. My skin crawls when it brushes against me. All I've wanted today was to rip it off.'

Harry shrugged, letting his long fringe hide part of his face and his embarrassment.

'Same here,' Ron and Hermione said at once, then glanced at each other, perturbed and slightly amused. The black-haired boy seemed to relax, gave his best friends a small smile and a look that plainly said, 'Weird, eh?'.

'I've felt . . . more connected to pretty much everything lately,' Hermione heard herself say. 'To the earth, to my body, to magic.'

The frown that deepened the old man's lined face did not go by unnoticed by the trio, but they went on – gaining strength from the simple honesty that rolled off their tongues. It reminded them of days of old, where they would speak of everything and nothing at the same time, in the Gryffindor common room.

'As I mentioned earlier, I feel magic more intensely than before,' Harry added, while he couldn't help but smile at the familiar feeling of togetherness he had with Ron and Hermione – the solidarity.

'My sense of smell heightens at random – like now,' Ron said, wincing as he blocked his nose with two fingers.

'Now that you mention it, my hearing has improved-' Hermione stopped suddenly and stared strangely at the green-eyed boy at her side. 'Hey, Harry, how is your sight?'

'Uhm, fine,' Harry answered, puzzled. He frowned at the look of bewilderment Ron was giving him and reached up to eyes to find . . .

. . . that his glasses were not there.

'Damn,' Harry murmured, blinking. As the shock wore off – a surge of elation rose up in him. All his life he had been chained down by his glasses and impaired vision. He didn't expect Ron and Hermione to understand; as they did not know how much it had affected his life, how tied down he had felt with his glasses resting upon his nose. How dependant he had been of them . . .

The Boy-Who-Lived grinned widely.

Hermione watched Harry's changing expression with curious eyes. The shock, the slight frown of thought, then the bright light that entered his eyes as his face split into a happy grin. . . The corner of the girl's mouth curled upwards, a warmth spreading in her belly and butterflies fluttered within. She couldn't help but feel giddy and proud as she saw his grin, the biggest one she had ever seen and the simple happiness that radiated off him. With all that had happened to Harry, she thought he couldn't, nor allowed himself to be happy and feel joy again.

Hermione loved his smile, she realised.

Big, green eyes fell on her, and a jolt of shock ran through her body. Harry's eyes were beautiful – there wasn't any other word for it. Without his glasses, they seemed a little unreal . . . wide and open and so trusting as he smiled at them.

She had the inexplicable need to treasure this moment.

Hermione tilted her head, her eyes darting to her red-headed friend. Ron was staring at Harry, a small smile on his lips as he rested his head in his palm as his elbow lent on his knee. Blue eyes found brown after a moment and a wave of understanding flowed between them: nothing, absolutely nothing could make them betray their friend.

Hermione found herself wondering why, after _five_ years, she did not realise that -

'Anything else?' Aberforth interjected, breaking the three teenagers' thoughts. They turned to him in confusion for moment, before they realised – they had been so caught up in their own little world, created by Harry's smile.

Harry shrugged, 'Other than the food part, nah.' He was looking at everything with a new light – everything was so clear! His old glasses had not been up to par, but that made sense as he never had the chance to change his lenses. The Dursleys had been pushing it when they actually took him to an eye specialist _once_.

He decided that he had been staring at his best friends because subconsciously he knew he had better eyesight . . . yes, it _had_ to be that . . .

'I'm starving though . . .' Ron said, surprising Harry and Hermione at how quietly he had done so. ' . . . for I don't know what.'

Hermione would've snorted at Ron, who is forever thinking of food, if it wasn't exactly how she felt. She didn't know how long ago they had had food, but she felt weak from hunger. Ignoring it would soon not be enough.

Aberforth was deep in thought, still tugging at his beard. He kept on glancing up at the three of them, before resting his eyes on the fire. Trickles of dread flowed in Hermione as she tensed. She had a bad feeling about this – and the wizard's serious face was not helping in that matter. Finally, after what felt like an age for the trio, did the old man look up and stare directly into their eyes.

'I have some ideas,' he said slowly, 'and I don't know if they are right. But I need all of your help in this.' He sighed, 'There has never been a reported case of it, but . . .' He shook his head.

'I know this is unfair for me to ask for this, but I need you to kiss each other-' at their expressions he added quickly, 'You don't all have to do it.'

Harry, Hermione and Ron felt like they had been turned to stone. Why was the man asking for this? It was . . . more than unfair – it was absurd! They were friends . . . but wouldn't that make it okay? If they were just that, then nothing would change would it? Unease ran through them.

An uncomfortable silence strained.

'Does it have to be a _kiss_?' Hermione nearly squeaked, 'Like, with . . . _tongues_ and stuff?'

She turned bright red when three pairs of eyes fell onto her.

'Not necessarily.'

Hermione straightened, and looked torn. Her eyes went from Harry to Ron, slowly, hesitantly. She didn't . . . want to _choose_ . . . between them. She shook her head. Where were all these strange thoughts coming from? It was almost as if she . . . liked _both_ of them! They were her best friends, for Merlin's sake! Besides, she couldn't have _both_ Ron and Harry . . .

Harry watched Hermione struggle and turned to Ron, noting how red his friend had gone and the furtive glances he sent at the bushy-haired girl. The tension in the air was almost as tangible as the magic he felt.

Harry brought his gaze downwards, shoving the melancholy that threatened to encompass him away and tried to ignore the tightness around his heart. Ron had always liked Hermione. They were perfect for one another . . . so why did he feel so horrible? Shouldn't he be happy that they could now be together?

Ron was blushing and he did not like it. But who wouldn't when the old man asked for them to do _that_? At least Harry had some experience with it, but him? The closest was when Aunt Muriel had been tipsy - an experience he did _not_ want to relive. He knew he had liked Hermione since fourth year, but to act upon those feelings, in a situation like this . . . he had not envisioned their first kiss to be in a cave with Harry and an old man watching. Let alone it being a test of some sort!

But he was getting ahead of himself . . . what if Hermione chose to kiss _Harry_? Ron was surprised when the usual feeling of jealousy did not raise its head. But a sense of . . . _something_ bubbled inside of him. He didn't know if it was good or bad.

Harry couldn't take the clenching of his gut and stood up – surprising everyone and made his best friends wary. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand – ignoring the pain he felt about what he was about to do – and took Ron's too. He pulled them close with a tug, before they had time to argue and put his best friends' hands together.

Harry looked off to the side, eyes downcast as black strands took them out of view – he couldn't look at them, lest he would walk away. But he knew he couldn't do that, or they would know that something was wrong – and they _couldn't_ find out that he . . . wanted both of them for himself.

He was being selfish by keeping them as friends as they were in so much danger because of that. He just couldn't ask for more.

It hurt to say it, but he had to, 'You guys should do it.' And he had to tear himself away, to give them room – to just get away from what he wanted desperately.

Ron and Hermione stared at their clasped, shaking hands in shock. They both had not expected Harry to do that, so much so that barely heard the best friend speak. They were very close and they were very aware of that. Their skin burned where they touched.

Blue eyes met with brown.

It was almost natural how they leant in as one, their lips touching lightly. Nerves were electric, almost uncaring. Hermione felt dizzy as Ron deepened the kiss, wanting more with a desire he had never imagined he had. Hermione's body warmed, parting her lips to allow entry – she wanted more of the feelings he invoked, more of the taste. Ron complied eagerly, his tongue slow and tentative at first before Hermione's met with his. Their arms wrapped around each other, pulling themselves flush against one another. Their hearts beat rapidly and blood thundered in their veins – they wanted more, so much more . . .

Ron's long fingers tangled themselves in her curls, pushing her head closer so they could deepen their kiss. Hermione was holding onto Ron's cloak, the material bunched up in her fist. Somehow, Hermione landed up Ron's lap, her legs on either of him. All she knew was that she wanted more of him, more skin, more tongue –

They forgot everything around them - consumed by the kiss.

They did not know how long it had been, nor cared as they parted for breath. Hermione's head felt fuzzy and her whole body heady. They leant back, they still touching and close, but enough to fill their lungs. Ron smiled at her with a blush, and Hermione returned it – their hearts feeling like they would burst. Laughter was on the tip of their tongues.

Aberforth coughed, his hand covering his mouth. He looked a little sheepish as he asked, 'Finished?'

Both of them went red and nodded.

Harry was sitting still, staring at the flames. He wished he hadn't looked, been strong enough to tear his eyes away from the mesmerising sight of the kiss. The image stayed stubbornly in his mind's eye.

Harry felt betrayed that his body reacted to it as well.

The black-haired boy took a deep breath and tried to stop himself from looking up again at his best friends. But his green eyes strayed back – and he wondered why he had to torture himself by looking.

Ron was playing with one of Hermione's brown curls with a tender look, his eyes half-lidded. Hermione had laid her head on his shoulder, her face nuzzling Ron's neck. She was gazing up at him lovingly.

Harry's heart beat painfully, like it was in a hand which was slowly clenching into a fist. He felt strangely empty as he watched them.

'So, do you feel any different?' Aberforth asked, 'How is your hunger?'

Hermione and Ron looked at the man strangely, before going into thought.

Ron's eyes widened, 'I feel like I have had a small meal.'

'I'm not too hungry anymore,' Hermione said, her brows furrowing.

'Harry, reach over and touch my hand,' the man said, lifting his arm and hand. The black-haired boy obediently did as he asked – wanting to not feel dead inside and be cursed by the image anymore. He had to do something else, to busy his mind . . .

As Harry moved forward, his whole body recoiled from the old man's flesh. He blinked in shock at his hands – what had happened?

'It is as I have suspected,' Aberforth said as he rubbed his worn face with a weathered hand. 'You three are not fully human anymore.'

Three heads turned sharply with wide eyes.

'You are incubi, and a succubus.'

Hermione spluttered, 'What? We are _demons_?'

'No, no – just magical creatures.'

'We're not fully human?' Harry asked, highly confused. 'But how is that? We look human!'

'That is one of the attributes of your kind,' Aberforth explained patiently.

'But how is this got to do with hunger?' Ron asked.

The old man tilted his head up, to stare straight into their eyes with an unreadable expression on his face.

'You feed off sexual energy.'

- - -

**Author's Note: **omg, angsty Harry! O.o poor boy . . . I was listen to 'the scientist' by cold play – so that helped tremendously with the emo-ness of our hero :) don't worry, he won't be so for long!

-chuckles- poor, poor trio . . . :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

- - -

Harry stared at the quivering surface of the pond, throwing another pebble into its depths. The water rippled violently before calming somewhat. Harry wished his thoughts could do the same, but knew it was too much to ask for.

His mind was still reeling from what Aberforth had told them . . . they were not _human_? Why had the wild magic done this to them? It made no sense . . . so out of the blue and unexpected. Not to mention unwelcome.

Its 'gift' had made too many problems.

Harry's heart clenched as the image of Ron and Hermione kissing rose unbidden. He ruthlessly shoved it away, his hand curling into a tight fist. He felt like crying, but he didn't let himself as it was useless. Tears couldn't change anything.

To add insult to injury, Aberforth had informed them that the wild magic had _also_ bonded them together, for extra measures, of course. Harry gave a long, hollow laugh – feeling empty inside. The magic had taken away any chances he had of love permanently – he couldn't be with anyone else, but his bonded.

And they were Ron and Hermione.

Who were in love with each other, not with _him_.

They wouldn't think of him in the romantic light ever – more like a brother. Harry wanted to hurt something badly – to vent the helpless frustration within him. His fingernails bit into his palm, nearly piercing the skin.

'I'm not an incubus,' he grated out, between clenched teeth. Maybe Aberforth was mad, or a lunatic . . . he couldn't be a creature that lived off sex! Imagine the _Daily Prophet_ headline: 'Boy-Who-Lived a sex-mad beast!?'

He ignored the gnawing and groaning of his stomach. He hadn't had anything to eat in nearly two days – and if the old man was right, he needed no food, but sexual energy to survive.

Harry found himself wondering what his best friends were doing at that moment. Were they still in each other's arms, holding one another in that tender way? Were they kissing slowly or hungrily like before? Were they making love to each other like no one else in the world? Had they forgotten their best friend, the third and not needed wheel of their friendship, as they stared lovingly into each other's eyes?

Harry hadn't looked at them as he had rushed away, after Aberforth had told them all he knew. He couldn't make himself, or he would've broken down.

_Are all the things I want taken away from me? My parent, Sirius, Ginny . . . and now Ron and Hermione._

He laughed bitterly.

_I'm the noble, self-sacrificing hero! Of course I can't _want_ things . . . I have to give, give, give . . . till I have nothing left._

Maybe it was better this way, he mused. If Ron and Hermione left him after they got out of this god-forsaken cave – then Voldemort would not target them. Harry could go on ahead in the war, not worrying about their safety at every moment. Yes, it _was_ better this way . . .

Harry untied his cloak and slipped out of it fluidly. It was such a relief to get out of the material and to feel the cool air of night on his skin. Slowly, the black-haired boy eased a foot into the pond, hissing as the water was cold. He waded forward, letting his body get used to the temperature as he moved. He ducked his head under after a moment, relishing in the feeling of sinking down into the deep depths. He lay suspended in the water, eyes closed and body limp. Harry had always loved the weightlessness of underwater – it reminded him of flying.

With a kick of his legs, he was at the surface again to take in a gulp of air. His lungs filled painfully as he gasped – he wasn't used to holding his breath.

He pushed off the bottom of the pond and lay on his back – his chest, face and hands were islands in the water. The different in the temperature of the air and water made his nipples contract uncomfortably. He floated there, for time.

He frowned at the twinkling stars that were revealed by openings that let light in by day. The magic of the place would not let them leave; it had sealed them in for some purpose. It hurt his head when he tried to figure it all out - he was tired and hungry, so he didn't even bother.

The hunger that gnawed at his stomach didn't worry him – he was used to eating hardly anything during the summer. He had spent many days listlessly lying on his bed, in and amongst the mess he never cleaned up – thinking of Sirius and wallowing in guilt. Aunt Petunia had just taken the half-eaten trays away through the cat-flap and laid down another, muttering how ungrateful he was to them.

Harry tuned out the thoughts of the Dursleys with disdain – he would never set foot in that house again, no matter what Dumbledore reasoned. He had no connection to his so called 'relatives' – not like what he had with Ron and Hermione . . .

He could feel the pressure behind his eyes and knew that the tears wanted to come, but he never let them. He could not get rid of the image of that kiss . . . so many things said and understood without words in that simple act. Harry wanted that connection with all his might, but his love for his friends stopped him.

A bitter smile greeted the night.

He could see his future laid out plainly before him. The utter loneliness, as the bond had taken his only chance at love elsewhere. The heart-wrenching pain of watching Ron and Hermione say that they love each other and have children together. The explanation he would have to give Ginny that he could no longer love her as his heart was sealed from others, but her brother and friend. The bitterness of wanting and never having slowly consuming him as they grew old – only living because of the bond and the love he had for his friends. Yes, he could see it all now . . .

xXx

Silent feet crept along the bank of the slow stream, going against the flow, up to the source of the movement. Red hair was dulled by the darkness to a muddy brown, and a pale, long body was covered by a cloak sped by.

Ron peered around, intent on finding one thing – his best mate, Harry.

He was still disgruntled with Hermione when she demanded that he go look for their friend after he had been gone for quite a while. But a long, satisfying kiss persuaded him quite quickly, much to Hermione's smug amusement. Ron could see this would be a problem in the future, but right now, he frankly didn't care.

He had kissed the girl of his dreams! She was amazing, brilliant, smart and beautiful . . . oh, how he wanted to go back and snog her properly and tell her how truly incredible she was. But first things first, he had to find Harry.

Ron scrambled up a boulder, planning on gaining ground to survey the span of the stream and to spot a head of messy black hair. And he did, but it was not as he had expected – not at all.

Harry had his back against a smooth stone and his legs stretched out before him - the cloak Aberforth had provided was haphazardly thrown across the ground, not far from the stream. One of Harry's feet was half in the trickling water, limply following the flow as best it could. His arms were at his side, palms upwards and still. His unreadable, unblinking green eyes were looking towards the stars, the back of his head resting against the stone.

It wasn't the first time Ron had seen his friend naked, as they had lived together in the same dorm for five years – but for some reason it felt completely new. It wasn't like he had changed, but . . .

Water droplets glistened in the moonlight, falling down pale skin and black strands of hair. They slithered down his neck, over his Adam's apple, to his chest. Ron couldn't take his eyes off their descent down Harry's torso – he blushed and averted his eyes. He felt wrong, like he was invading Harry's privacy and trust in way.

Why were there butterflies in his stomach? He shook his head quickly.

He peered up at the young man before him after a moment, staring at the emotionless expression we wore. Ron wanted to wipe it off his face, to see that smile again . . . but he couldn't move.

Nothing could make him move those few steps – it was like there was a physical wall, or a chasm between them. One that couldn't be breached without effort on both sides. He and Hermione could try, try, try . . . but Harry had to make the final leap.

With these thoughts, the red-head turned and went back the way he came. He may not be as smart as Hermione, nor as understanding, but he knew this with all his heart.

xXx

'Ron?' the small voice of Hermione questioned from the shadows, 'Where's Harry?'

The red-head turned, his blue eyes downcast. Hermione immediately came forward, her arms pulling him into an embrace and laid her head against his chest. Almost tentatively his arms rose from his sides to bring her closer, he kissed her hair and welcomed the comforting warmth she so freely gave.

'I couldn't go near him,' Ron murmured softly, 'He seemed so lost, 'Mione. I don't know what to do.'

The bushy-haired girl leant back to look into his eyes – she stared at him for a long moment, as if debating something internally. Ron raised an eyebrow, content to wait – Hermione always knew what to do . . . she _had_ to know.

She teased herself out of his arms and leant against the corroded, uneven wall behind her.

'I have a few questions for you, Ron . . .' Hermione said slowly, almost hesitantly, making him slightly nervous. 'You must answer them as best you can, and truthfully.'

'Hermione, why-'

'It'll help Harry, trust me.'

Ron nodded warily before setting down on a rock.

Hermione looked thankful and said, 'Tell me about your relationship with Harry.'

Ron stared at her strangely, 'He's my best mate, and we're always there for each other. We tell each other practically everything all the time. We spend all our time together, as we both enjoy each other's company. We love the same things and we can get into discussions that will last hours, even go on through the night till dawn.' Ron smiled at that, not noticing the twinkling in Hermione's eyes, 'I will follow him to any hell and protect him no matter what – and I _know_ he would do the same.'

She smiled at him when he brought his gaze to her, 'You'd do anything for him?'

'Yeah,' Ron said and gave a little chuckle, 'We three all need each other, or we'd be dead a long time ago.'

'Damn right,' she said, grinning. 'So, what do you think of Harry's attractiveness?'

Ron blinked a few times, then spluttered, 'Hermione, I-I don't think-'

'You agreed, Ron.'

He looked sheepish for a brief moment, before speaking quietly.

'I'll admit he's a . . . handsome bloke. A little short, but with his messy hair, his big green eyes – and he's got a . . . good b-body,' Ron paused, images of Harry sitting naked under the moonlight filled his mind and he blushed.

'He's fit . . .' The droplets slivered down the muscles on Harry's chest in his mind's eye, making his breathing a little quicker and his heart pick up its pace.

'Gorgeous also,' he heard himself whisper and froze. He had called his best _male_ friend _gorgeous_?! Why the hell were the butterflies in his stomach again? What was he . . . feeling? Harry was _very _much _male_, as his mind happily supplied, with many images.

'That he is,' Hermione said, standing before him with her hands behind her back. She was wearing a small smile, her head tilted to the side. Ron stared at her in shock, dread filling his gut.

'Hermione, do you l-' he tried to say, before she cut him off by placing her hand over his mouth.

'Shush, love. Don't worry,' she said, giving his a soft kiss on her forehead before taking her hand away. 'Answer me this – did his smile make you want do _anything_ to keep it there?'

'Yes,' he said sincerely and without a doubt.

Hermione straightened and grinned widely, 'My, Ronald Weasley, I think you're in love.'

The red-head stared at her dumbly.

'With . . . with _Harry_?' he managed, his blue eyes wide.

She nodded happily.

'But, but – I really love you!'

'Yes, I know that and I do too,' she practically beamed at him before leaning in for a breath-taking kiss. 'But we're also in love with Harry.'

'What? _We?_'

'Yup!'

They stared at each other for a long, long time – before resorting to grins, then chuckles and full out laughter. They pulled themselves clumsily together and fell to the ground where they lay, a tangle of limbs, looking up into the darkness and listening to each other's hearts beating.

Ron entwined his fingers with Hermione's and whispered into her ear breathily, 'You're sure about this?'

'Hell yeah,' she mumbled, nuzzling his chest.

'All three of us?'

'Yup.'

'Together?'

'What else? It's always been the three of us . . . it would be just not _right_ without Harry there at our side.'

They lapsed into silence.

'Never liked a bloke before,' Ron chuckled, his fingers trailing patterns across her forearm.

'Harry's always been special. In every case,' she answered with amusement. She reached out and lightly brushed her fingertips along his jaw. 'We're going to have an interesting life with him, right? Not a lot of things are normal with Harry around.'

'Would you have it any other way?'

'Never.'

xXx

Harry pulled his cloak tighter, trying to banish the cold but hating the feel of the material on his skin. His shivered from cold and disgust, curling into himself as much as he could. He suddenly wished he was at the fire, soaking up the warmth – but that would mean he would have to see Ron and Hermione. He knew he had to at some stage, but he wanted to delay it as much as possible.

The earth was cold beneath, warmed only slightly after a few hours of the same position. Harry knew he looked pitiful, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was sleep without nightmares or dreams – a small reprieve from everything.

But slumber eluded him; like he was grabbing at smoke and shadows.

He started when a footfall sounded softly in the dark.

Harry lifted himself up into a sitting position and he warily peered into the shadows. Scowling, he pushed himself up to his feet, half-leaning on a stone.

Another footstep, echoing slightly from behind. Harry swung round, his body tense. Tentatively, he spoke:

'Guys?'

Familiar bushy hair appeared from the darkness. Hermione had a small smile on her lips as she stared at him. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Ron standing not far from him, also smiling.

Harry gulped, feeling a little sick in his stomach as his face paled. He didn't want to deal with them – he wasn't ready!

As one, they stepped forward, on opposite sides of him. Harry stiffened, as his eyes kept on darting between them.

'What's wrong?' Harry asked, stumbling back a few steps.

'We were looking for you,' Ron started, tilting his head to the side.

'Cause we have something to tell you,' Hermione finished.

Harry took a deep, shaky breath – trying to calm himself as they slowly advanced on him. He didn't want to deal with them . . . he _couldn't_ hear what they would tell him . . . it would only hurt more.

'Its fine, I know,' Harry forced out, his heart hurting. It was hard to breathe.

'Know what?' Ron asked, sounding . . . amused?

'That . . . that,' he could feel the threatening tears behind his eyes, ' . . . you guys a-are a c-cou-couple.'

'Oh, it isn't that, darling,' Hermione murmured, smirking.

_Darling?_

Harry felt bewildered, and that he was missing out on a_ very_ important point.

Hermione was close, as was Ron. He was shaking and achingly aware of their proximity.

'We came to tell you . . .' Ron said, his strong arms embracing him around his waist from behind.

Hermione leaned in, her arms encircling his neck and chest, their lips inches apart, '. . . that you are ours and no one else's.'

She kissed him, like he had _never_ imagined. It was nothing like he had experienced, or dreamed – it was all consuming, hungry and hard. He grabbed her, roughly and almost desperately near. All thought flew out of the window, as all he knew was the mouth on his and the roving hands bringing pleasure to his body.

He moaned into the kiss, feeling weak at the knees and only supported by the two bodies pressed up against him. He was unbelievably hot, a bundle of uncaring nerves. He didn't know what to do with himself.

They parted for breath, gasping and hearts thudding against their breasts. Harry had no reprieve, as one of Ron's hands had found itself under his cloak and sliding up his chest, rubbing his nipples. Hot, wet kisses trailed the side and back of his neck, making him arc and groan.

He turned, lust blazing in his eyes and scowled at Ron's smirk – intent on wiping it clean off his face. He roughly kissed the red-head, who also did so with equal passion. Harry shivered when Hermione's small hands had found the clasp of his offending cloak and ripped the material off him.

Harry cursed the need for air as they pulled apart unwillingly. Ron chuckled weakly at his frustrated expression as he breathed unsteadily.

'Shut up,' Harry growled, their lips a breath away, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. Hermione's hands were wandering dangerously low and Harry almost whimpered – the full attention of the two was becoming too much for him to have coherent thought . . .

All the doubts and fears fled his mind and were replaced with the need of _now_ – nothing else mattered, but the lips on his skin, on his mouth . . .

- - -

**Author's Note: **muwhahahahahaha! –evil grin- and there you go, angsty Harry gone! I was getting annoyed with the little bugger for being so emo for so long . . . so I spiced things up! Wait for the morning after . . . –evil chuckle-


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**__I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

- - -

The pale, cold light of morning spread and dived into the cavern through the many crevices and openings – bathing all in its path in a pink tinge. The shadows of the organic proceeded thick and dark, elongating what it presented. The chatter of birds trilled in the air as they greeted the new day with catching enthusiasm.

It was coldest part of the day, that moment before the sun's warmth began its eternal reign. But one Harry Potter was warm.

_Very_ warm, indeed.

He lay nestled in-between two bodies, the three pairs of legs a tangle of limbs, their arms embracing and hands entwined. Their even breathing rang softly in the air, as they snuggled up against one another on their pile of cloaks.

Slowly, Harry blearily rose out of his slumber, and blinked.

Half-lidded eyes stared uncomprehendingly at the mass of curls before him, then at the arms encircling him tightly. A soft snore sounded near his ear and he stilled, finally realising his position – trying to relax as to not wake up his companions.

He took his in situation with wide green eyes. Okay, Ron was behind him – his head half on his shoulder and he could feel the breath ghost his neck, which sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Hermione was at his front, nuzzling his chest and had a thigh possessively throw over his own.

_This can't be happening . . . a dream. It must be a dream!_

Memories of the night before came pouring down upon him and he was left stunned. Did they really . . . _sleep_ together? He twisted a little and an aching pain in his backside confirmed it. Even though the denial he held fervently couldn't suppress the giddiness.

Still, he thought it too good to be true . . . things like this did not happen to one Harry Potter, without a price. What could prompt his friends to do this? The bond? He shivered, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Did the bond force or manipulate them into sleeping with him? It could be that it forced emotions onto them without their choice . . . he felt like crying at that thought. Would they hate him, or each other, when they realised what happened when they woke up?

All the happiness that had bubbled up inside of him died. He had to get out their arms, even if he just wanted to be there and _belong_. But it would be for the best, so they wouldn't wake up in an awkward, precarious position – a chance to salvage their friendship, perhaps? He had to have a little hope.

He slowly tried to ease himself out of their arms without waking them, which proved tricky as he was in the middle. He suspected that Ron and Hermione had planned it this way . . . but he did not dwell on such an unbelievable, positive thought, even if they knew him so well.

Tugging gently on one of Ron's arms, and pulling his fingers out from Hermione's took an age, slow and unwilling as he was. He immediately felt the loss of contact and wanted it back, but he stopped himself.

He started wiggling his way out, but was stopped by Ron's arms tightening suddenly and the low growl in his ear, 'Stop moving. Warm.'

Harry was unceremoniously pulled down the scant distance he had managed to make, encompassed in warmth once again and held down by stubborn, unyielding limbs. Hermione sleepily burrowed deeper into his chest and her face could hardly be seen because of her wild curls. The frustration at the lack of freedom mounted in him, but it couldn't combat the happiness that welled up and made him tingle all the way to his toes.

Shaking, Harry murmured, 'Guys, wake up. This isn't real . . . it's the bond.' It took so much of his strength of will to say it and to not fall back into the nestle of warmth they had created – to have for once, the peaceful sleep it promised.

Hermione slowly lifted her head and tilted it back, not loosening her hold on him one bit or for one moment. She glared at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes for a long, long moment before saying, 'Stupid.'

Then she promptly resumed her place as Harry heard Ron grunt in agreement from behind. His mouth twitched in response, even though he was trying to detach himself from the whole situation – which he was failing at quite miserably.

'But this isn't real,' Harry persisted.

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh, before rolling onto her back. She stared at him with a frown, her slender fingers of one hand brushing her hair back. In those moments, Harry realised again how truly beautiful she was and gazed at her in half-masked wonder.

'Was last night any indication?' she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

'Well, it was . . . but the bond-' Harry started, but was cut off.

'Haven't you thought about that just _maybe_ we liked you _before_ the bond?' Ron asked gruffly, one arm throw lazily across Harry's middle and the other bent as he rested his head in his palm.

Harry glanced at him, blushing slightly as he became very aware of how close they were – how much skin pressed against his . . . He turned his gaze back to Hermione, hoping for a reprieve, but her being so unconcerned and open about her nakedness did nothing to help his imagination.

'But the bond-' he repeated again helplessly.

'No,' she answered calmly.

'You two-'

'Yes.'

'Us three?'

'Of course.'

Harry stared at her, 'I don't -'

'Oh, for god's sake!' Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation. 'Do I have to do another Ron Talk of two syllables?'

'Just give in, mate,' Ron murmured with a smirk. Harry felt his insides go to mush at the last word and he was left bewildered, even though he now knew why. Harry peered over his shoulder at him as the red-head continued with a wink, 'It's easier and pleasanter to do so.'

Harry eyes were downcast as a silence descended on them, then after a moment he whispered so softly that they nearly didn't catch it: 'You don't hate me then?'

Shock filled Hermione's brown eyes and she lay still and unblinking, staring at his vulnerable state. Trembling, Harry squirmed under the intense gazes of his two companions, indecision twisting his gut - immediately regretting saying anything.

Slowly, Ron half-lifted himself up and gently pushed a wary Harry onto his back. One long finger trailed the length of the black-haired boy's jaw tenderly, before cupping it with a hand. He leaned down, and kissed him softly.

Harry felt all his troubles drift away at that simple touch, all that mattered was the mouth at his and the intimacy of it all. Even if the kiss was not at all like the demanding ones of before, it was just as needed to reassure. Harry closed his eyes and brought his arms around Ron's neck, languidly kissing back with an upwards curl of his lips.

When they broke apart, Hermione was watching them with a smile, her elbow propping her up. Harry didn't know it, but he was grinning as he ran his eyes down her body appreciatively, liking how her nipples had half-contracted and knowing it wasn't just the cold affecting them.

'Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry,' Ron said, sitting up next to Harry, one of his hands entwined with his. Hermione brought disbelieving eyes to his blue ones.

'How? We don't need food anymore.'

'You know, just because we don't eat food, doesn't mean I lose my appetite,' Ron said with a wide grin, 'Quite the contrary, really.'

Harry and Hermione's eyes widened, but there was no mistaking the excitement in them. Ron smirked, running a hand down Harry's side and down his thigh. 'That was just a teaser, _mate_.' His eyes had bright light in them when he saw the reaction, 'A snack more like . . . want a little more?'

Harry bit his bottom lip, as if deciding something, then snaked a hand up and pulled the red-head down close by his neck.

'Damn right, I do,' Harry murmured huskily, before dragging him down for a kiss that promised a little . . . more.

xXx

It was three very disheveled figures that emerged from the collection of stones downriver later, far into the morning – grinning like mad, always touching, be it clasped hands, a stray arm or an embrace. It took them an age for them to get to their destination because of random bouts of snogging, wandering hands and indecent comments, all of which were greatly appreciated, in and amongst the blushing and sniggering.

It was to the great surprise of one Aberforth Dumbledore that the three of them appeared at all, let alone wearing anything. As they approached the smoking, charred ruins of the fire, he raised his hand in greeting, his mouth moving, but no sound entered their ears. At their looks of confusion, he swished his wand and there was a rush of magic and it terminated.

'What was that?' Hermione asked, as she had not heard the spell, but a few options were already running around in her head.

'Silencing charm,' Aberforth answered with a grin, shooting a ball of flame from his wand towards the fireplace. He motioned them to sit, and they found couldn't get the blush off their faces.

'So, you consummated the bond quite rigorously,' Aberforth started, making them go redder, 'You should find that whatever you wear are not as unpleasant as before, but that is as long as you have a healthy sexual relationship. Which Miss Granger proved quite outstandingly – I'm sure you would've woken up half of London, my dear – but my brother always said you exceed all expectations.'

Hermione smacked Ron's arms when he said under his breath, 'Evidently.'

'But, I assure you that your privacy is your own – and that is why I raised a Silencing charm and stayed by my hearth,' Aberforth said jovially, placing his clasped hands on his knobbly knees. They nodded, the thought only occurring to them as he said it, as they had been a little . . . preoccupied, but they were thankful of his decency. The idea of the stately old man being a peeping tom was just _wrong_, like the older Dumbledore, they had assumed him to bigger than that without even realising it.

'Anyhow, we must talk about the reality of your new lives in wizarding world, as I am sure you will be returning one way or another,' Aberforth murmured sadly, glancing at Harry for a moment. 'You all have much on your young shoulders and more to deal with now that you can never fully merge with human society.'

'We can only leave this cave once the wild magic deems it the right time and we need to use this period of reprieve to prepare ourselves for the war that will surely come . . .' the old man continued, before stopping with a kindly smile as Hermione looked fit to burst from not asking questions. 'Miss Granger?'

'How do you know that the wild magic will do so? It may lock us up in here forever,' she said in a rush, albeit a little sheepishly.

'I can feel it wafting over my skin,' he murmured, 'The wild magic lets me read its intention and what it wants me to do. I've never felt anything alike it, but I know this for sure – it wants me to train you three for what is ahead.'

Aberforth shook his head, then brought his gaze to them, 'Will you accept me as your teacher?'

They peered at him in slight awe, before chorusing, 'Yes!'

His eyes hardened, 'I will teach you in a way that you have _never_ experienced - I will be ruthless and stretch you beyond your limits.'

They all stared at him with a new, respecting light, although there was a little trepidation and wariness. Resolutely, they nodded.

'If you accept my mentorship, then you are agreeing to _never_ give up, no matter what.'

Harry's hand curled into a fist and he said determinately, 'We agree, sir. We'll do our best.'

Aberforth smirked, 'Your best won't be enough, because I demand perfection.'

They gulped as they gazed at the calculating expression the man wore and as he critically measured them up. But they all knew in their hearts that all the sweat and blood ahead would be worth it.

- - -

**Author's Note:** short 'n sweet :) had to deal with Harry's insecurities ( sadly, Harry wouldn't be Harry if they didn't pop up now and then O.o ) and a little fluff between the trio! :D I love writing those parts . . . anyway, in the next chapter there'll be more on incubi and sucubi and the training they'll be going through.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Harry Potter, sadly . . .

xXx

Harry had long ago concluded that Hermione was one of most beautiful woman in the world.

And she was more so every day.

As he let his eyes rove her figure – up past her elegant feet, her shapely calves and thighs – he couldn't help but be in awe. He wanted to run his fingers across her pale skin, circle each faint freckle with a fingertip and caress her with his mouth. He wanted to run his hand through her voluminous curls, as they cascaded down between her shoulder-blades and rested on the curve of her neck. A stray lock always fell across her cheek in an almost cute way, and Harry found himself, more often than not, unable and unwilling to move it.

His gaze went upwards to her wonderfully rounded hips, loving the inward curve to her waist that tantalised him to no end . . . He stared at her backside appreciatively – he could do exactly for hours (if she would let him) and muse over its perfection.

Despite the fact they had been sleeping with one another for three months – Hermione still was shy about her body, though not as much as she had been back then, before the bond. On rare occasions, she'd lapse into a quiet confidence when felt sure of herself and could be quite seductive unconsciously – Harry loved these moments. They were when every movement she made sent a flare or desire through him.

The black-haired man – yes, a man, for which he had become – watched the woman at his side turn her head and open her chocolate brown eyes. She blinked blearily, rubbing her one eye with the back of her hand and sighed.

''Arry?' she mumbled into her arm, 'Are you staring again?'

'Yes,' he answered with small grin.

She groaned and rolled over, brushing her curls away from her face as she turned her face to his. She was frowning, 'I don't know why you do it – it's not like-' she glanced down at her body, '- like I have anything to stare at.'

Harry gave her an incredulous look, 'Whatever are you talking about, 'Mione? Of course you do!' He reached over and cupped her jaw with one hand, 'Every bit of you, my love, is beautiful.'

A tinge of red coloured her cheeks and she tried to duck her head, but Harry's hand stopped her.

'The way you blush so sweetly . . . ' he murmured, his fingers trailed a path down her cheek to her lips, 'It makes me want to kiss you.'

There was a ruffle of blankets behind Harry, 'Breakfast?' a gruff, sleepy voice asked. Ron shifted up to see over Harry's side, his red hair a mess and slept in.

Hermione and Harry laughed at his eager expression, and gave him each a kiss on the cheek. The red-head frowned, pouting slightly as he lay his chin on Harry's shoulder, sliding his legs closer to touch Harry's. Absently, he started running a few fingers along his bonded's arm softly.

'No breakfast?' he queried, lifting a ginger eyebrow.

The other two couldn't help but grin as he added a 'I'm hungry' with a plaintive edge to his tone. Harry pulled Hermione closer and into his arms, all the while, snuggling nearer to Ron.

'Ron, our lovely lady thinks she has nothing worthy to stare at,' Harry said, purposefully adding a pompous sound to his voice. 'Tell her what codswallop that is.'

The sixth Weasley blinked and gave his woman an unbelieving look. 'You seriously think that, Hermione? With a body like yours? Ye Gods, I thought I was the thick one.'

The bushy-haired witch glared at him, but it half-hearted. A corner of her mouth was twitching upwards and her cheeks were becoming redder. 'But compared to-'

'Geez, 'Mione, don't compare yourself to others! You're unique, beautiful, sexy and a lot of other things . . .'

'Think about it, love, how many girls can get _two_ guys in bed with her? And keep them there?' Harry said, grinning widely at her stubborn expression. 'Even if the bond wasn't here, we would've all gotten together anyway.'

'Do you really believe that, Harry?' she whispered uncertainly.

'Yeah, with all my heart,' he answered, holding her tighter. Ron nodded in agreement when she looked at him and kissed her knuckles tenderly.

They lay there in silence, listening to one another's hearts beat, swathed in warmth. Harry felt only what could be called love fill his entire being and he felt fit to burst from it. As it spread through his body, tears sprang up in the edges of his eyes – but he ignored them as they fell.

'What about breakfast?' he heard Ron mumble into his back and he gave a short gasp of laughter, grinning like mad.

'Harry?' Ron asked, a little worry evident in his voice. Hermione looked up at his green eyes and understanding flowed between them.

'Merlin, I love you both,' Harry said, his voice thick, 'So very, very much.'

xXx

Ever since Aberforth had started training them, they had to do morning exercises after feeding themselves. Harry found out very quickly how much havoc these exercises invoked within his senses – as watching scantily clad bodies and their movements - flexing muscles, the sweat dripping down their skin - did not help his train of thought, but merely guided it into the gutter.

Everyday he had to exercise his self-control. To a _large_ extent, as one does not jump one's bonded while they're doing weights or in the presence of an elderly gentleman.

But Harry found this logic cruel, because exercising made him hungry.

And the black-haired man blamed it entirely on Ron.

Ron was a very enthusiastic lover, as well as a hungry incubus with an enormous appetite. Hermione and Harry had found it hard in the beginning to keep up, but, to their mild concern and amusement, their capacity for sexual energy increased at an alarming rate – now close to the red-head's. Ron took all the credit proudly, and once shouted it out loud teasingly, to their huge embarrassment. Hermione and Harry couldn't look Aberforth in the eye for days, as the damn Dumbledore twinkle was twinkling madly.

Harry shut his eyes, and pushed his hair back and out of his face. His hair was long, hanging past his nose, as they soon found out that cutting their hair was useless – because the next day, their hair was back to the original length and annoying the hell out of them. Ron was exempt from this bizarre occurrence, to Harry's eternal frustration, and could manage his hair like before. The red-head had teased him that he looked like a girl, but ceased suddenly when the Boy-Who-Lived coldly said there would be no sex for month if he didn't stop.

The man peeked out at Ron's form, continuing his stretches, but stopped himself just in time. He didn't want Aberforth breathing down his neck if he did or tried something. The three of them found out very quickly how scary the old wizard could be.

'All right, young'uns, that's enough for this morning,' Aberforth said gruffly, settling himself down on the leather armchair he had configured out of a rock. 'An old man like me needs food to eat.'

Harry sat down on the cold earth, reveling in the cooling temperature – running, stretching and lifting weights first thing in the morning tired them out physically to a large amount as they had not gotten used to the schedule or had been adequately fit. The young man irritably pushed his fringe back and around his ears, sighing loudly.

Green eyes peered to the side and he found that his bonded had taken seats at his side, both of them red faced and breathing heavily. They sat in silence as they watched their aged teacher cook a fish over his magically produced fire.

'I wonder what they are thinking outside . . .' Hermione murmured, her elbows resting on her bent knees. 'School must've started a while ago.'

Aberforth looked up at her and frowned. 'Whatever are you talking about? Before I came here, it was half way through the school year, near Christmas.'

Hermione's eyes widened, 'It was the summer holidays when we were taken from our homes.'

Ron looked confused and Harry felt a sliver of dread curling in his stomach – his instinct was screaming at him that this was dangerous territory, that whatever they would find out would be unexpected, unwelcome and unpleasant.

'What is the date, sir?' Harry asked, his hands clenching into fists in his lap.

The older man gave him a strange look, but spoke nonetheless: 'I estimate that we are somewhere in February, in the year 1994.'

Three shocked and bewildered sets of eyes shot to Aberforth.

'What?!' Ron almost yelled, with his usual eloquence. 'What the hell!'

'How is that? Are you sure, sir? Really sure?' Hermione questioned with speed.

'Of course I'm sure, I have a watch that tells the year, but the day and month options broke a few years ago,' he answered, his brushy white eyebrows drawn together. He gestured to a wide-faced watch on his bony wrist. 'Now tell me, what is bothering you three all of a sudden?'

'Last we knew, it was 16 June 1996,' Hermione supplied, her brown eyes still wide, still unbelieving.

'Time travel,' the wizened man murmured in near awe and his watery blue eyes roved the cavern's high ceiling. 'Merlin . . .' he breathed, clutching his robe at his chest.

'Time travel?' the bushy-haired witch said, paling. 'We went back in time?'

Harry stared at the exchange, the dead certainty in his gut agreeing with her words. He felt sick and put his knuckles to his lips, biting onto them.

'We? What do you mean 'we'? How do we know that it was us that went back in time? Maybe the wild magic pushed Mr Dumbledore forward in time.' Ron said reasonably, gripping the hair at the back of his head with a hand.

'Oh no, I haven't been shoved around in time, Mr Weasley,' Aberforth said suddenly and firmly, 'I would've known.'

'But how?' the red-head pressed, with a sense of urgency. 'How would you have known, sir?'

'I used to have a time-turner in my youth and acquired this very watch then,' the man explained, pointing at his wristwatch once more, 'It follows the flow of time and would've changed if I was placed in the future.' He shook his head, 'No, my dear boy, you have, without a doubt, been taken back into the past.'

'What if the wild magic messed it up?' Hermione asked, almost in a whisper, with a dash of hope.

The older wizard shook his head again. 'It has survived more than wild and wooly magic, lass. Even the intensity of a place like this.'

Harry, Hermione and Ron stared at the stone beneath dazedly.

'Ah, it all makes sense now,' Aberforth murmured, terminating the fire before them with a wave of his wand, 'I did think you all looked a little old.'

'1994 . . . that was our third year at Hogwarts,' Hermione said, blinking, 'We were thirteen then.'

'And if I have calculated correctly, you are all sixteen, right?' their teacher said jovially. 'What a fine age.' He smiled.

Hermione's eyes narrowed suddenly and she shot a deathly glare at Aberforth. The man started and opened his mouth, but the woman gave him no chance.

'Thirteen?!' she shouted, 'You thought we were thirteen?! And you sent us off to _sleep _with one another?!'

Aberforth leant forward in his chair, a frown on his wrinkled face, 'What else was I supposed to do, Miss Granger? Let you starve?'

'Thirteen is still too young! You're a _child _at that age!'

A momentary sheepishness and guilt flashed on his face, but he soldiered on, 'You three are in no way normal – you all have a major place in the war that is coming – and death does not wait for maturity.'

Hermione was red-faced, but with anger or shame, Harry did not know. She glared at the man again for good measure and looked away sharply.

'I still can't believe it . . .' she whispered hopelessly, 'Even if we get out of this godforsaken cave, we'll be in a different time.'

'Maybe the wild magic wanted to give you time to prepare,' Aberforth said, clasping his hands on his knees. 'Time you would not have had if you were in the future.'

'But we can't go home . . .' Hermione said softly, curling into herself, 'The consequences of being seen in this time would be . . .' Harry saw that she was shaking slightly.

Ron still looked confused and Harry could see he was becoming frustrated, so he put one of his hands on the red-head's shoulder to placate him. Harry nodded slowly, looking straight into his eyes – silently telling him that all would be explained at a later date. Ron frowned but there was a look of concession on his face.

'Perhaps that is why we have been, dare I say, 'imprisoned' in this cavern by the magic itself? It is logical that it would do so, as surely it knows how much of a danger time travelling is,' the wizened old man wondered, holding his chin between his thumb and his index finger thoughtfully.

Hermione looked up, 'But sir, we saw you, la-'

Harry darted forward and put a hand across her mouth to silence her. The bushy-haired woman scowled at him and tried to push away his hand.

'Hermione, think of how much damage you could do if you said anymore?' Harry hissed sagaciously. Her eyes widened and she stilled.

Aberforth was watching them, his watery eyes hooded by his wild eyebrows and gray hair that was loose. 'I agree with Mr Potter, sadly.'

Harry sat back and crossed his arms. 'We don't know what could happen if we reveal anymore – but I am now sure that we do in fact get out of this cavern sooner or later.'

_Before our fifth year, _Harry added for himself. Images of Aberforth in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade flashed before his eyes.

'That is a relief – I am fond of fish, but having it every day is not pleasant,' the old man said with a grin, and was pleased to see that the oppressive air had lifted slightly with his comment.

'Well, our food source is also one thing, sir, but I can assure it gets better every time,' Ron said with a smirk and winked at his blushing bonded. Aberforth chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

'Oh yes, on a random note, I'd like to check some theories I have about the bond you share – that is, if you don't mind . . .' the old man trailed off, evidently worried he was pushing it, as they had all, after all, learnt they had been taken back in time unwillingly.

The shock and disbelief was still there in their gazes, but once they glanced at each other, they nodded as one in agreement.

'Ronald, if you please, can you placed you hand palm up before me?'

Ron shuffled forward and did as the man asked - a puzzled frown on his freckled face. Aberforth raised his wand and did a series of rapid movements that the trio did not recognise. The words he whispered harshly were too fast to discern.

Then he froze and momentarily, a slightly bewildered expression on his face surfaced, but it was replaced swiftly. His old and crinkled face scrunched up.

'Ah,' he sighed and a huge grin widened on his face all of a sudden. 'I apologise for addressing you wrongly these past months, Mr Potter.'

Harry's perplexed expression rose up to Aberforth's grin. 'What? What do you mean?'

The old man's grin spread further, 'No, not you, Harry. I'm talking to Ronald here.'

The red-head mouthed 'Potter' dumbly.

'What the hell is going on here, sir? Why are you suddenly calling Ron 'Mr Potter'?' Hermione asked, a slender dark brown eyebrow rising.

'Because it is his surname, and I presume it is similar for you too, Mrs Potter.'

Hermione, Harry and Ron stared at the man like he had grown three heads.

'Explain,' Hermione almost growled – her hair seemingly becoming bushier for a second.

'You see, you three are in a kind of limbo. You are not fully-human, nor are you fully-demon. You have only some of the abilities of the incubi and still retain your near perfect human form, while many incubi cannot for long periods of time. I could only presume, before the test, that you were still liable to Wizarding Law. And I was correct,' he clarified; the twinkling in his eyes very much present. 'And by the Law you abide by, the bond placed on you is like a wizarding marriage bond.'

Everything was very, very still all of a sudden.

'Congratulations,' Aberforth said jovially, and clapped his hands together with apparent joy.

The three of them couldn't look at one another. Silence stretched out almost unbearably for what seemed like an age to them.

'W-we-we're _married?_!' Hermione near squeaked.

'I think you have it wrong, sir,' Harry said slowly, carefully. 'Can you check again?'

Ron was still mouthing 'Potter'.

Aberforth smiled cheerily and said, 'There is a spell that shows your true name.' He told them the words, and did not bother with the movements as wandless magic did not need them. Since their wands had disappeared, they had learnt wandless magic and found to their surprise that incubi had an affinity to such magic.

Hermione tried to spell and got it on her third try. To their shock, letters began to form themselves in the air and it said: _Hermione Jane Potter._

The bushy-haired witch gasped and nearly fell to the floor and would have if Ron hadn't been next to her. She blinked stupidly at the three words above her that were slowly fading away.

'This can't be happening . . .' she murmured, rubbing her eyes. 'This really can't.'

Ron paled when his spell worked and showed the words: _Ronald Bilius Potter._

Harry was staring at the words and for once, he didn't know how he felt. He was married. To two people. At the same time. A mixture of euphoria, nostalgia, dread, bitterness and a slight contentment was in him – all meshed up together in something he couldn't name. The black-haired man rubbed his forehead tiredly, as the storm of emotions raged inside of him.

He had not expected such a day.

xXx

'How am I supposed to tell my parents that I'm married to _two_ men?' Hermione said, trembling slightly. 'How? Just _how?_'

'And how am I supposed to tell my little sister that I'm married to the bloke she has loved since forever? And to her best friend?' Ron muttered, gripping his red hair with both hands. He seemed to be speaking more to himself. 'What about Mum? I have to tell her I'm _married_ – she'll go bonkers.'

'All my Muggle friends . . .' she whispered, gulping.

'Is it really that bad that we're married?' Harry said softly, staring unseeingly at the trickling river next to their nestle of cloaks, pillows and blankets. The morning had started off so wonderfully . . . 'Or is it because you're married to _me_?'

Ron and Hermione froze and looked at their lover - their _husband_ – and both felt a rush of guilt. Hermione strode across the few steps between Harry and herself - wrapping her arms around him, kissing him soundly.

She drew back, 'No, never that,' she whispered into his ear. 'It's just that we've all had enough shock today. It was unexpected.'

'And we had no choice,' Ron added, his voice soft as he embraced Harry as well, 'You know I don't react well to these kind of things, mate.'

The black-haired man sighed and tried to relax in their arms, but his thoughts fought against him. 'I'll never be normal. And I drag you all into messes like this,' he whispered, 'I always do.'

'And we'd rather not have it any other way, love,' Hermione reassured him, and pressed a kiss on the tip of Harry's nose. 'Plus, what's the attractiveness of normalcy when we have you?'

Harry smiled a small smile and leaned into touch of Ron's hand on his cheek. 'We're married,' he said, a giddiness rising up in him, 'We're bloody well married.'

Ron and Hermione grinned at him, at each other.

'We're the kickass Potters,' Ron said, a gentle tenderness in his blue eyes. He kissed Harry's fingers lovingly.

'We're unstoppable together,' Hermione said, pressing her face to Ron's chest, 'We're married. We're family.'

A bright light slowly flickered to life in Harry's wide green eyes.

'I have family,' he said in an astounded tone, 'I finally have family.'

'Yeah, mate,' Ron murmured, 'You do. And _always_ will.'

Love shone in his emerald eyes and he felt like crying all over again, but rubbed his eyes clear. A determined expression came onto his face and he said, 'If we're married, then we have to do this properly.'

Ron and Hermione gave him baffled looks.

Harry drew back and out of their arms. He took a few steps back and went down on one knee before them.

'I know we had no choice in the matter . . . but . . .' Harry floundered for a moment, but carried on firmly, 'I know we're in a shitty situation – with being stuck in a cave, bonded together and changed in magical creatures – not to mention being taken back in time and have a war ahead of us . . . but I can't help but be happy that we're here, that all this has happened. That we figured out we loved each other.'

Harry took a deep breath, 'Will you guys marry me and each other?'

Ron looked perplexed, 'But we're already-' Hermione shushed him with a hand and smile.

'Yes, of course,' Hermione said, taking Harry's hand into hers. They looked at the red-head at their side, who had one of his eyebrows raised.

'This is so mushy,' Ron said, making a face. Harry and Hermione laughed and fell into his arms.

As Hermione snuggled into Ron's chest, she asked, 'So?'

Ron smiled, running his fingers through Harry's hair and along Hermione's forearm, 'My heart decided that for me a long time ago.'

xXx

**Author's Note: **argh – I'm sorry for the wait :( its nearly been two months since the last update, but I was really, really busy moving house O.o the updates will be slower, as the chapters will be longer and I have my other story to worry about . . . -sigh- anyway, listen to 'simple together' by alanis morissette – it's an amazing song and a kinda theme song for this chapter


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks** **to** xiia0moonlight, xRosePetalx, FlashbubbleLemon, Raven Hufflepuff, Acidic-time (with lotsa love :)), Irix, Padfoot2304, Ryoko05, Knyghtshade, ladyBlue Wolf, arialee, Banana Flavored Eskimo (I just love your username :P), Anime Princess, ProtegoNox, chelle20, Suinitram, Krazy Kara, EOSVU4eva, actofwill15, medfanofreading, laica-27, Luna Ming, Estry and Dreamer22 for reviewing this story! :D

xXx

A spectrum of colours writhed around him, beneath and above and at all sides. Harry's mind couldn't comprehend fully the chaos before him – an ocean stars falling past his eyes, the echoing cries of a mournful wind that rebounded throughout his being again and again, the feeling of clawed hands grabbing at his soul uncaringly and being stretched nearly beyond his limits. Time was in disarray – the black-haired man was trapped in frozen moments when even his mind seemed to still, his breath rising up for barely a fraction of a second then down without his remembrance. Every minute movement - the expanding of his lungs, a blink of an eye or a slight quiver of his lower lip – was like a never-ending and infinite instant.

Colours twisted, meshed and fought – explosions of light and darkness . . . Harry tried to close in eyes, but he found he could not – it was like someone, or something, was holding them back. Everything was out of control, inexplicable and new – fear and excitement dominated the emotions in Harry, but it was more that they were the only ones he could recognise within him.

'Come,' a voice, or a million, said and rumbled from far away and close to his ear at the same time. A warmth wrapped around him, enfolding him fully from all sides. Harry wondered and wondered where he remembered such a feeling – it was like . . . its touch was like what he imagined a parent's love to be. Like how Mrs Weasley once embraced him.

Harry felt the warmness of tears slide down his face. But he didn't feel anything.

'Shush, child,' the calm voice whispered. Though he could not see anyone, he felt what could only be a pair of lips press a soft kiss onto his forehead. 'Come with me.'

How can one person feel nothing, but at the same time feel a gut-wrenching sadness tear at them? Harry heard a pathetic whimper and then realised it was his own.

'Let me Guide you, child,' the voice said, akin to that of a trickling stream.

And Harry let it.

xXx

Blinking blearily, Harry Potter stared ahead, noting his sudden apathy without interest. He lay on his side, his shoulder supporting his weight while his elbow stabbed at his rib. His green eyes 

followed the lines of the wooden floorboards as far as he could without moving his head. He could feel his eyeballs moving in their sockets – up and down, slick and sliding - and along his half-open eyelids. Slowly, he sat up, absently asking himself why he was naked once again.

He shook his head and forgot it.

The man looked up and around the empty room – wooden boards making up the walls, floor and ceiling. There was a slightly ajar window, and through it, he saw deep darkness. Shivering, he ducked his head and saw, out of the corner of his eye, a head of curls and freckled skin at either side of him. He felt a momentary shock – one which quickly receded back to be replaced by indifference. Ron and Hermione lay on their backs, eyes closed and fast asleep.

With a hand on each of their shoulders, he shook them awake.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and when her gaze fell on Harry – she stilled and stared.

'Wha?' the red-head grumbled, moving away from Harry's hand. 'Go 'way. Wanna sleep.'

He shook him harder.

Ron groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. Unwillingly, the tall man scrunched up his face, then peered up at the offending hand and person. His blue eyes widened.

'Harry?' he breathed, completely still. The black-haired man glanced at both of them, then shifted his seat till his legs were tucked under him. Their disbelieving looks did not confuse or worry him at all, though Harry knew that should. But he couldn't make himself feel it, nor think it – both were undesirable and . . . and . . .

He shook his head again.

Hermione gave out a shuddering gasp, 'Harry, what is happening to you?'

'He is changing,' a low voice murmured from the shadows. Harry lifted his head and saw two dark, dark eyes staring back at him. He remembered that voice . . . 'Changing from the outside, changing from within.'

Hermione tore her gaze away from her lover and peered into the darkness from which the voice had come. 'Who are you?' she hissed, scrambling up into a defensive crouch.

'Be calm, child,' the voice said, its tone never varying, 'You all know me. You've all heard me.'

'Show yourself then,' Ron said coldly, sliding along the boards to shield Harry and Hermione behind him.

'As you wish.'

A figure glided out of the shadows, almost like it had been a part of it, and stood before them. Long dark hair slithered down the figure's shoulders and face, over deathly pale skin, till the 

very floor and merged with it like roots of a tree. The stranger's eyes were like burning coals – darker than darkness itself – and were fixated on Harry. It was man, very evidently, as he too was naked.

As he walked, it seemed as if he floated and did not touch the ground. All of his movements flowed into one another like water, as he leaned down, kissed the tip of his index finger and placed it in the middle of Harry's brow.

'None of that now,' the man chastised softly.

Harry stiffened at the contact. A trembling coursed down his spine, and the almost sweet apathy was wrenched away from him. He brought his hands to his face to hide it and his abrupt sobbing. When his lovers' hands fell onto his back, he sobbed harder. He felt like the tears would never stop.

He moved one of his hands away, and saw what looked like black ink pooled in his palm. He touched his cheek, his lashes and edges of his eyes shakily, frantically. The black liquid was seeping from his tears ducts and from the surface of his eyes.

'What . . . is this?' Harry whispered chokingly. He gazed up at the man that was staring at him with a tender, understanding expression. Awe and wonder filled the young man, and he could not find a reason why. It was just the mere presence, the warmth, of the strange man that humbled him.

'You are changing, child,' the man said patiently. 'Though, I slowed the process down.'

'Why?' Harry murmured, the black liquid continuously falling – down his cheeks, over the corner of his lips, and down his neck. A few droplets caressed his chest, staining the skin. 'Why?'

'Because you have to first finish what started.'

'Voldemort,' Harry simply stated and the man nodded his head.

'You can never leave the human realm if you are not free of your bonds to it,' the man explained unblinkingly, 'The prophecy that is clutching you is but one of them, though it is the most important.'

'Human realm?' Hermione asked quietly at Harry's side, 'How do you know of the prophecy? What are you? Where are we?' Her voice was slightly fearful and frustrated.

The man drew back and straightened. The dark gaze fell to the bushy-haired witch, 'I know many things, child. Like what you three are becoming, what you fear . . . and the fact we in the place of dreams this very moment.'

'Dreams?' Ron repeated with a frown.

'I have been waiting here for you three to wake up,' the man continued, 'for a very, very long time.'

'Why?' Harry murmured in question, smearing the black liquid on his thighs as he laid his hands upon them. It dripped off his nipples and collected in his navel. 'Why us?'

'You three were chosen by the Guider – by what the humans call 'wild magic.' You are its children, like our kind are, and it needs you for its survival.'

'I don't understand,' Ron piped in, 'Its magic – so why would it need us?'

'The Guider created a human, though he can't be called that anymore. This creature was meant to do great things and was given the power to fulfil that destiny. But he went astray and knew too much.'

'Tom Riddle,' Harry said, his hands clenching into fists.

The man nodded, 'Riddle craved immortality. He abused what he was given – and he killed whoever was in his path.' The man's face twisted into a disgusted sneer that seemed unreal. A frightening look that no human could express, Harry was sure.

'As a creator, the Guider can't kill what it made, so thus, you children were sculpted into existence for one reason alone – to kill Tom Riddle, before he collapses the very base of magic itself and destroy all we know.'

'How do you know this?' Hermione said carefully, disbelief and fear in her eyes and body language. 'You could be lying to us. You could be Voldemort in Harry's head.'

'You three are no longer in your physical bodies, but in the realm of dreams – where all mortals go to when they slumber. It has been a very long time since Riddle has dreamed, as he is tied to the human realm in a way that not even I can understand,' the man said, then tossed his head from side to side, 'No, Riddle is banished from this place - from the dwelling of the incubi.'

And the trio just knew he was telling the truth – by a strange warmth and protectiveness that the man's aura promised. Even with this, Hermione's head shot up and she dissected the man before them with her eyes for a moment, 'Then you are . . . an incubus,' she said in awe. 'A real incubus.'

The man inclined his head in agreement. 'I am Azadeh, the one the Guider has chosen to reach and train you three in our ways, as I am the oldest.'

'What do you mean?' Ron asked, confusion marring his features.

'Since we are of a different realm, the incubi can only affect the mortal world in small ways – it is only here that we hold sway over humans. We can watch the dreams of mortals as they play out, or manipulate them as we wish. The true power of our kind is in dreaming. That is what I will teach you.'

'But you said that Voldemort cannot come to this place, so how can learning about dreams help us kill him?' Harry murmured, curling into himself. His tears may have run dry, but the melancholy had not lifted.

'You will affect those around him – slowly tear down his support and followers one by one,' Azadeh said with a smile that was too wide for a normal human. 'You can trap them in this realm so they can't leave and their mortal shells will perish. You can torture them with their worst nightmares 

over and over till their minds break – then toss aside the gibbering, drooling mess of insanity.' He chuckled, 'You can do many things here, my children. Many, _many_ things.'

Harry, Hermione and Ron stared at the man, a pool of fear at the bottom of their stomach. The man had slowly changed, his skin was paler, almost transparent, and they could see the blue network of veins surging beneath. The whites of his eyes turned as dark as his pupils. Long, sharp and darkened nails grew dangerously on his hands.

'Why should we trust you?' Harry whispered, defiance shining in his eyes. 'Why are you doing this?'

Azadeh slowly changed back to his human form, 'As much power we have, it is limited by the Guider. '

'If we abuse this power we have and harm the humans – our life-spans diminish as well as our power,' the man continued with an air of sadness, 'I have lost many partners and friends to this limit.' He sighed with an ancient heaviness. 'But it is for our _survival_. Humans are our food source and we depend on them. It would be sheer stupidity to destroy that source.'

'Makes sense . . .' Ron muttered, looking thoughtful. 'Strategically, that is a logical limit to put on the incubi.'

'A limit we have unwillingly respected and adhered to,' the old incubus murmured, 'Over my life I have gained wisdom to agree to it -' he looked up and straight into their eyes, 'but you three are exempt from this limit as you neither human, nor incubi – but something in-between. That is why the Guider made you as you are, so you have that ability. So you can fulfil your purpose.'

'We are . . . _exempt_ from it?' Hermione said in a low voice, 'You mean, that we have full rein of the power in this place? But that . . . that . . .' She looked horrified at the thought.

'Indeed,' the man said, but his expression was grave, 'But there is a catch.'

'As there is with all things,' Harry mumbled bitterly under his breath and into his knees. The long-haired incubus gave him a pitying look.

'The more you use the power of our kind, the more you will change, until there is no more humanity left in you. You will truly become one of the incubi then, my children.'

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. His humanity? He would have to leave the human realm, his home, forever? Leave Hogwarts . . . leave the Weasleys . . . leave all he knew?

'Will the change happen even if we don't use the power . . .?' Hermione whispered in question. Her eyes and face were hidden by a curtain of brown curls.

Azadeh nodded, 'The change is inevitable.'

Harry wanted to _any_ other way to let out his frustration than to cry over and over again. He wanted to scream at everything as loud as he could. But what left his mouth was a strangled whisper, 'Don't we have a _choice_ in this?' He felt so weak for crying.

The incubus' expression became rueful and a sad smile came onto his face, 'Only if the Guider lets it be so, child. But the prophecy . . .'

Harry rubbed his eyes harshly, 'I know! I know . . .'

Oh, how he hated himself for dragging Ron and Hermione into this mess . . . into this cruel joke that was his life.

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness and exhaustion swept over Harry, Hermione and Ron. Their slurred exclamations of surprise sounded just before they slumped to the ground in a heap. Azadeh was blurred in their vision – a mirage of white and black meshed together like in a painting.

'You stayed too long, children – rest now,' the man said softly, and it reminded Harry of the sound of gentle waves. 'Sleep.'

As Harry descended into darkness, he knew with a clear certainty that if he were the two people at his side – he would hate himself.

And would never forgive himself - even if the things that they had experienced hadn't been his choice.

How could they love someone like him, after all that had happened?

xXx

**Author's Note: **Ah, good old angst :P It had been hiding in its dark, dingy corner for far too long, I guess. . . but I hope you guys, the readers, like this twist in the story. Sure, this story will have angst and drama, but the fluff will always be present! :) never fear! I think every fluff story needs some darkness, so we can fully appreciate the good mushiness :)

Oh, listen to 'Le Vent Nous Portera' by Noir Desir & Manu Chao – it is a godly song, even if I can't understand it well :)


	10. Chapter 10

'So . . . so, what do you want to do when we leave here?'

Hermione tossed her curly hair over a shoulder and out of the way, bringing her wide brown eyes to focus on Harry. She stared at him thoughtfully, nibbling on a lock of hair, musing over his question.

'I don't know . . .' she said softly, her gaze swinging to a sleeping Ron, who was spooning Harry from behind. 'I never really let myself wonder.'

Harry gave a gentle, slightly bitter chuckle. 'I know, I don't think anyone is sure if we are going to _ever _get out of this cave.' He pressed himself closer to Ron's body, his eyes hidden by his dark hair.

Hermione frowned at her dark-haired lover. Both she and Ron had noticed he had been acting different, more distant, since they had had the strange dream of Azadeh a few weeks ago. Hermione once woke up and saw Harry slip into bed near dawn, his eyes red-rimmed and had dry tear-trails down his cheeks. They didn't know what was wrong, nor had had the courage to ask as of yet.

'No, I don't think it's that,' Hermione whispered, curling into herself to conserve warmth. 'It's more that I'm afraid.'

Harry looked shocked for a moment, before tilting his head to the side and said, 'Of what?'

She shook her head slightly, and tried to smile. 'Of seeing everyone.'

'Really?' Harry asked suddenly, 'Just that? Only that?'

Hermione's frown deepened, 'No, of course not, Harry. I'm afraid of many things. I'm afraid of seeing you and Ron d-die. And the war ahead of us - of what we must do in order to live . . . and to win. I don't want to change – but I know we will.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry said so quietly that Hermione nearly didn't catch it.

The woman reached out a small hand and cupped Harry's jaw. Her thumb tenderly brushed his cheek, over and over. They lay in silence, his shoulders quivering, her eyes prickling with tears and Ron's deep breathing.

'Don't be,' Hermione choked out, her mouth twitching into a sad smile as tears fell past it. 'Don't be sorry, Harry.'

'But-' he started, and quietened when Ron's arms tightened their hold on him. The black-haired man felt a pair of lips kiss his neck and a low voice from behind murmur, 'Shhh, love.'

'But why don't . . . don't you guys hate me?' Harry said, his voice thick and had a wild edge to it. He shook his head. 'I don't understand . . . why don't you?'

Hermione stared at him for a long, long time.

Almost tentatively, she leant forward and brought her face close. She kissed Harry quietly, just a pair of lips pressed against another's.

Hermione drew back, 'I love you, Harry,' she said calmly, almost patiently, 'and because of that, I can never hate you.'

Harry rubbed his eyes fiercely, his heart pounding madly. 'I don't understand. . . I _just_ don't, Hermione . . .'

'Then don't, Harry,' Ron said promptly, pressing his cheek to the back of Harry's neck. 'Just accept.'

Harry gulped, his mouth opened and closed a few times, but he couldn't speak. Hermione held him close, her arms next to Ron's. Finally, after a while, he let himself cry, to sob, to breathe clearly again . . .

'Okay, I'll try.'

xXx

Harry dodged a splash of water aimed at him, laughing along with Hermione. Ron had dragged them to the pool near their sleeping area – proclaiming that a bath was in order – but had also decided that a water fight was an _amazing_ idea too. Hermione splashed at the red-head across from her, and got a face full of water very quickly in reply. She made a face at her two men, her hair darkened by the water and sticking to her skin.

'Not much cleaning going on here, I must say,' she said loudly, hands on hips. She tried to look disapproving, but failed dismally. Ron swept her up, bridal-style, into his arms. He grinned cheekily at her, before kissing her enthusiastically on the mouth.

Harry dived underwater and pulled Ron's legs out from underneath him – sending both of them flying into the pool. Both Ron and Hermione gasped in surprise as they rose to the surface, then the bushy-haired witch started giggling, her eyes bright. Ron was laughing soon after.

Harry gave them an evil smile, then smirked at Ron and shouted, 'Hermione tickle!'

The brown-haired woman's eyes widened. She tried to swim away, but her husbands' hands rained down upon her. As they tickled – she squealed loudly, feebly trying to escape, but was incapacitated by laughter. When they stopped, she drew away, grinning like mad, and gasping for breath.

'That was evil,' she managed to get out, trying to scowl at them.

Whistling innocently, Harry put slicked his hair back. Ron lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and said, 'Okay, we'll be good.' He smiled at her good-naturedly.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, 'And I'm supposed to believe that?'

Ron looked stumped and hazarded a guess, 'Ah, maybe?'

Harry snickered, and then burst into laughter at their expressions. Their gazes swung to him – Hermione's lips twitching into a smile, while Ron chuckled. It was good for them to see Harry's green eyes alight and happy – more so to hear his laughter.

'You know, I think we should have a huuuuuge-' Ron spread out his arms wide, '-bath or pool in the house we live in together,' he said, absently spelling shampoo into existence and onto his hand.

Both Harry and Hermione stilled and looked at him.

'You've thought about a house . . .?' Hermione asked, allowing the red-head to wash her hair for her.

'Of course,' he said warmly as he ran his fingers through her curls, 'I have been for _ages._'

Harry silently turned a pebble into a bar of soap, then lathered it onto Ron's back. The freckled man gave him a quick smile over his shoulder before carrying on, 'I have a few ideas of the design, but I need some help and ideas from you guys.'

'What have you got in mind?' Hermione said, brushing some shampoo from her forehead.

'I've always wanted a big garden, like the one at home. Without the Gnomes, of course.' He winked at them, 'But there _has_ to be big trees _everywhere_. And lots of green grass. Maybe a little river near the edge of the garden too.'

'What about the house?'

'I don't want a white-picket fence or anything. Just a home to come back too, I guess. With a big fireplace for winter and comfy couches in front of it. We can have enough shelving space and more for Hermione's books,' he continued keenly, a foamy hand resting on her shoulder for a moment. 'Oh yeah - then, a section of the garden out back can be a small Quidditch pitch.'

Harry chuckled, though not stopping his cleaning. Ron turned around and gave him a grin, telling him it's his turn to have his hair washed. As Hermione leaned down, draping her long hair into the water to rinse, she said wryly, 'Me thinks that the bedroom plan has been given a lot of thought too, right?' Her eyebrow rose again.

Harry snorted, 'Well, his mind does go in one direction . . .'

Hermione sniggered at Ron's smirk, sending a playful splash of water at him. 'Typical,' she said, rolling her eyes. Ron looked a little sheepish, but it didn't last long.

'Well, what else am I supposed to think about when you two are tasty morsels within reach?' he asked, tapping his index finger to his lower lip thoughtfully. 'Plus, you guys like my naughty thoughts!'

Both Harry and Hermione's cheeks were tinted with pink.

'And do you know what?' Ron said, stroking his jaw and lifting a ginger eyebrow, 'I bet you two want to know _exactly _what I'm planning on doing _right_ now.' There was a dangerous, tempting glint in his eyes.

Hermione bit her lip and Harry's eyes widened marginally.

They both knew _precisely_ what he had in mind.

And they didn't mind one bit.

xXx

Aberforth twisted the stick in his hands around, holding his breakfast fish close to the flame. He sighed, strengthening his silence wards again. He pursed his lips together, sending an amused and exasperated glance in the direction of the cluster of protective rocks that the three children had chosen to reside in and amongst.

The old wizard turned his fish to another side again and let his elbows rest on his bony knees. Grey strands of hair escaped the leather band that rested at the bottom of his neck, falling across his vision as he stared at the flickering flames before him.

His senses spread out, feeling the alien, yet familiar, magic dancing around him. It ghosted his weathered skin, the surface of his eyes, his lips. It was tantalising and sensual in a strange way – and some part of the old man yearned for it. He knew that he wouldn't mind living and breathing this magic day in and out, year over year – every second of the life he had left. But, wistfully, he knew that if, by any chance, he survived another war like the one ahead – then he would be too weak and feeble to live alone here. Let alone that he would be able to find a place such as this again - as magic had a way of hiding and protecting it.

No, he knew that he would never come here again. It was a brief chance of a lifetime. He had to enjoy it while it lasted.

Suddenly and without warning, the sense of the place changed. The very magic changed! His watery eyes widened and, discarding his fish on the floor, he shot forward. As fast as his aged legs would carry him, he ran to an entrance to the cavern that they had found. Gasping for breath, he stretched out shaking fingers and found to his shock, that the invisible shield that had denied them exit was gone.

Aberforth stumbled backwards, a wave of clean, earth-smelling air wafting past him. The sounds of the outside world came apparent – birds singing, the rustle of leaves in the wind, an echoing cry of an animal and insects buzzing. It was so real, yet so utterly unreal to be hearing such things again after so long.

The old man smiled.

They were free.

xXx

**Author's Note: **A short chapter this time, as I felt that it had to end there. Plus, I have to stop procrastinating and start studying for my bio test tomorrow O.o bleh, I always write when I have things to do – like exams or test etc. Bad puddle!

Oh yeah - listen to 'Sakura Kiss' – the violin version from the anime Ouran High School Host Club :) it is amazing! I was listening to it for like this whole chapter. It's so cool! –hums along-


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione pulled on her boot, tightening the string and tied it into a bow. She placed her foot down on the ground, pressed down and wiggled it around in its covering to get comfortable. She grimaced slightly as she wrapped a scarf around her neck, her dark brown curls falling forward like a curtain – obscuring her vision. With a long-suffering sigh, she brushed her hair back behind her ears and looked up. A worn dirt pathway lay ahead of her, lined by old and gnarled trees that curved out and then in near the top.

She stared at a pair of birds fly past and as they disappeared behind the greenery, then her gaze fell to her hand. The skin was pale, paler than usual, and worn. She could see old blisters on her palm, hardened skin and tiny scars. It was strange for her to see it this way – so familiar, yet foreign at the same time.

She sighed softly, then stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and set off.

Hermione trudged down the path, her loose and empty back-pack swinging and hitting her back weakly as she walked. The air was chilled and she could see her hot breath come out before her like steam. The trees started to thin as she came to level ground, the path widening and joined by others. Long grass grew and stood still like statues on the small fields on either side of the woman – dewdrops glistening in the morning light while flowers slowly started to open.

Cresting the last hill, the bay yawned before her and she could see that the sea was quiet. Her lips curved upwards into a smile as her eyes rested on a small cluster of houses near the port. The village was awakening and Hermione could see figures emerging from the buildings.

From there, it was ten minute walk. She knew this, because she had counted. Ron had teased her for days, grinning at her enthusiasm and being blunt and thick as usual. It wasn't her fault that she loved being where they were – she had always wanted to see the sea. As a child, in London, the sea was something you only saw in pictures or books.

The rising sun silhouetted a waving figure and only after she raised her hand to block out the light did she recognise the portly woman beaming at her. Hermione smiled a small smile and quickened her pace, the gravel crunching under her boots. As she drew near, a crooked sign above the wooden door made her eyes involuntarily rise and read: 'Mary's Books'.

Mud clung to the undersides of her boots and the witch kicked them to a vaguely clean state against the step – then opened the door and entered. The musty smell of old books pervaded her senses and the thrill of seeing her beloved tombs once more tingled down her spine. It had been too long, a day, perhaps.

'Oh dear Jane, what brings you here? The newspaper and a book or two again, per chance?' the portly woman asked from behind her counter. Hermione stopped herself from almost making a face at the name she had given, to hide their location and identity.

'Good Morning, Mrs McKay,' Hermione said, nodding her head in greeting. She blushed slightly in mild embarrassment, 'Maybe a book this time, I think.'

'Ah, child, I distinctly remember telling you it was all right to call me Mary . . .' the woman said with a motherly smile, her blue eyes amused.

Hermione's blush deepened, 'Sorry, it's a habit, I guess.'

Mary flicked her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her lined face and smiled.

'It's all right, Jane. I just prefer my name – I feel so old when you call me 'Mrs McKay'!' Mary chuckled. She ducked under the counter and headed towards a shelf of books – chortling when Hermione mumbled another apology.

'You said you would get a few new books in today, right?' an eager Hermione asked, peering at the spines of the tombs before her. Mary glanced at her, and then put three books in her waiting hands.

'Old Barry sold me this yesterday, said it was his great-grandad's or something.'

Hermione's eyes went wide with excitement and she fingered the covers gently, reverently. 'How much for them?'

'Good Lord, child, you haven't even _opened_ them!' Mary said, laughing. She told the young woman the price and chuckled at her excited expression. As she fiddled with the accounts and receipts, she looked up at Hermione over her horn-rimmed glasses that lay low on her nose, and said, 'So how is Raeton treating you and your husband, Jane?'

'Very kindly, Mary. The people have been very patient and friendly this past week . . . we like it a lot here.'

'Your cousin is also with you too, right? That dark-haired fellow . . . can't remember his name . . .' Mary frowned at the money in her palm. 'Harold, wasn't it?' She looked at Hermione expectantly.

The witch nodded.

'My, it's nice to see such a happy couple like you and Roland out and about in the village . . . its pleasant to have new faces now and then,' Mary said warmly, handing back the change. 'How is the house you bought?'

'It's really nice, now that it mostly clean, it was _hell_ trying to get the guys to help out though,' Hermione said, making the bookseller laugh again. 'God, _men_.' She rolled her eyes for good measure.

Mary wrapped the books in a brown paper packet and waved goodbye as she left. Hermione stopped at the general store to buy the daily milk and some food – zipping it all away in her back-pack. It was easier to walk back with the solid weight behind her.

And as the salty sea air blew up and past her, she whistled with the singing birds flying overhead in the Scottish skies.

xXx

'Mione!' Harry exclaimed when he saw her emerged from the trees, a dish-cloth over his shoulder and a bowl in hand. He pulled the curtains closed, leaving the small window in favour of the open, squat wooden door.

Hermione smiled, her cheeks pink from the walk and cold, looking refreshed. She lifted an eyebrow at Harry's shitless appearance leaning against the frame, but nonetheless kissed him when she reached the doorway. She tasted fresh to Harry and as he nuzzled her neck, he found that her hair smelled like the sea.

He grinned, 'I love you, Mrs Potter.'

Hermione only smiled in response and wrapped her arms around his neck.

'Hey . . . what's this?' Harry asked, as he felt and prodded the rectangle shape in her jacket pocket. 'More books?' he teased.

Hermione pouted and nodded, 'Well . . . I-'

Harry held a finger to her lips, silencing her. 'No need to explain, love. You like books, we know.' He smiled tenderly at her.

'Okay,' she murmured, a corner of her mouth curving upwards.

They both moved apart when they heard a soft, plaintive meow from the next room. Hermione chuckled and followed her dark-haired husband into the aforementioned room, swinging her back-pack from her back as she went.

She couldn't help but grin toothily at the sight that greeted them – Ron in a _skirt_, lying on his back on their bed, with a fluffy kitten on his bare chest. He was waving a finger in front of the kitten's small face, its big blue eyes following it with intense concentration. Every now and then it would lift a clumsy paw and try to catch the offending finger – tumbling over twice as it over-balanced in its attempts. They had taken it in when no-one else could in the village.

'I got the milk,' Hermione said, handing Harry the glass bottle, the white liquid sloshing inside with the movements. When Harry set about busying himself with his task, the brown-haired woman lifted an eyebrow at her red-headed man.

'I see that you're keeping your promise,' she said with a wide grin and glanced at the skirt. Ron frowned, placing a large hand over the kitten to keep it still, and almost pouted.

'I always do . . .' he grumbled, a hand fiddling with the end of the skirt. White fluff squirmed in Ron's grasp, meowing in frustration. The red-head ignored it as it gnawed on his little finger.

'It's not my fault that you lost the bet,' Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and took off her boots. 'Even though I knew I would win,' she said smugly and smirked. Ron peered up at her through narrowed eyes, then back to the kitten, continuing his sulking.

Harry's gaze darted between his partners and sighed, placing the bowl with milk on the floor. Gently, he lifted Ron's unresisting hand and took the kitten out from beneath and was given a series of meows of appreciation. He let the kitten onto the wooden floorboards, the bowl within its sight, and it pounced off happily. Brushing his long dark hair from his face, he stroked the small head of the feline and got a rumbling purr in thanks.

He turned and saw Hermione smirking at Ron, who was scowling at her. His cheeks were reddening, which made Hermione's smirk become more pronounced. Harry lifted an eyebrow, then his mouth twitched upwards and he frowned – not sure how he should be feeling. Yes, he was amused that Ron was wearing a skirt – who wouldn't be? –but the sulking that had resulted was trying. Though, a smirking Hermione _was_ sexy, he had to admit.

But Ron was being childish, by not speaking to her - after all, he _had_ lost the bet. They had been arm-wrestling and Hermione said that if she won, Ron would wear a skirt, and if she lost . . . she'd wear a tie and a thong and nothing else for one day.

And of course, Ron agreed readily.

The result: Hermione won every round.

Harry chuckled at the memory of his husband's utter disbelief and astonishment. Both Hermione and Ron looked up at him questioningly and he laughed. Harry, without warning, jumped onto the bed and pulled Hermione down with him. He kissed both of them passionately.

When he drew back, Hermione quirked an eyebrow and asked, 'What brought that on?'

'Don't know – had the urge, I guess,' he murmured and shrugged. His green eyes were bright.

There was a meow from below and Harry rolled over on the bed. He reached down and picked up the kitten gently and put it on the duvet. Hermione giggled when a flash of white fur flew past her and jumped onto a pile of pillows. With sharp, seemingly delicate claws, the kitten made its way to the top of the precarious pile – letting out a triumphant sound when it did so, a mini-roar, one could say.

Ron twisted his neck and looked up, then promptly said, 'I think we should call you King.' He smiled, 'because you're the lord of pillows and foolishness.'

Hermione giggled, while Harry grinned and said with a mock-pompous voice and a fist over his heart, 'May you sway the fair maidens' hearts, young lord!'

The newly dubbed King merely deigned them with a satisfied purr.

They laughed and snuggled up together – Ron's sulking temporarily forgotten in the warmth and soft kisses. King surveyed the bed, his rightful territory, with one half-open eye for a moment, before curling up to sleep.

xXx

The sky above him was like nothing he had ever seen.

It was night, only in the sense that the sun was not in the sky and moon was present. But it did not _feel _like the night. Harry had always imagined the darkness as a protective layer, an easy embrace that teased and tantalised. That all the falsity of the things revealed in light were covered and put out of sight – a brief calm ignorance. A time to rest away from the world.

But the sense of the place was nothing he knew or recognised. He knew he was dreaming, that much was obvious but . . . it was _unfamiliar_. He missed the chaotic mess of unintelligible dreams – the lack of boundaries, the freedom it used to present. But ever since Azadeh had introduced himself, there was this control over their sub-conscious – this overwhelming realisation that _anything _could be possible. One that he feared.

He didn't want to change for the worse, or become drunk on the power they held . . .

Harry tossed his head from side to side slowly, to feel every sensation it produced.

He brought his eyes to the sky again, and couldn't help but marvel at what he saw. Stars flew through the emptiness of space – spiralling, following and dancing with one another. Waves of strangely coloured strips of light writhed around, changing shades as they moved. It was all so surreal to the man, so against the very logic and understanding he had of the world – even if he knew of the existence of magic.

'So it is you tonight,' a low voice said across from Harry. 'I thought as much.'

Harry lowered his gaze and stared at the pale man that sat cross-legged on the lush grass beneath them both. For a moment, it was an almost a physical effort to move his eyelid. He blinked once and parted his lips, 'Why?'

Azadeh tilted his head to the side, a part of his neck and skin revealed in the movement. He smiled in only what could be described as a sensuous way and said, 'You like taking the blame, don't you?'

Harry stared at the incubus' almost translucent skin, and then looked down. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'You think everything is your fault. You take the blame for all of it,' Azadeh murmured, placing his hand flat on the ground, fingers spread out wide. 'Even if it hurts you.'

Harry hunched his shoulders forwards slightly and he tried to push away the burning feeling behind his eyes. He didn't feel like crying. Not now. 'But the fault _does _all lie with me.'

'But why? Because of your very existence?'

His mouth felt dry. He couldn't speak, so he nodded instead.

Green eyes followed the rise of the incubus' one eyebrow. He let his gaze fall to the mouth below and found an amused smile. Azadeh drew back his hand, his long fingers sliding through the air and said, 'You are cute, by the way.'

Harry stared at the blades of grass before him, at the darkened veins and minute networks within. He had the sudden urge to reach into them and to unravel those veins and to find the mysteries of them. To find the _true_ meaning of being a blade of grass.

A soft and gentle touch under his jaw lifted his face upwards. Harry let his eyes go as wide as they could, just because it was possible, that he could and that it didn't matter. Azadeh was smiling fully now and his hand still lay on his jaw, his fingertips still trailing and drifting off the skin.

'You are beautiful too,' he murmured. 'So why don't you stray into my bed, dark raven?'

Harry's stomach muscles clenched momentarily. Slowly, Harry tilted and moved his face from Azadeh's reach, wearing a slight frown.

'No, I won't,' he said, tasting and meaning every word.

Azadeh's smile fell off his face and the emotion in his dark eyes left, 'Why ever not?'

'I have my own that wait for me.'

'They would never know,' the suggestive tone came back.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, 'But I would.'

And barely in a whisper, he said, 'And I would never be able to live with myself.'

xXx

**Author's Note:** ah, vaguely long in length, sweet and a tinge of melancholy :) that's how I like every story I read to be like. I really like uke Harry – he's so sweet! I loved writing the scene with the kitten and dishcloth . . . he's so girly at times :P Anyway, I just finished the most amazing, fantastic, truly awesome book – _American Gods_ by Neil Gaiman. If you like long meandering stories that are like a journey . . . read it!

Yay! I just discovered Cat Empire – their music is really cool :)


	12. Chapter 12

Harry wiped his hands on his brown apron, green eyes surveying the smoky room before him tiredly. Once his hands were dry, he brushed the few strands of hair that had escaped his hair-band behind his ears out of pure habit. The low pony-tail he had lay against his pale neck and dark, silky hair fell in-between his shoulder blades.

As he pulled up his jeans up, he frowned as he briefly wondered what cruel humour Hermione had savoured the moment she transfigured him a particularly tight pair of skinny jeans to wear. He looked down at the offending piece of clothing – his wife knew very well that he, Ron included, had no talent whatsoever in transfiguration beyond the rudimentary. She had been in charge of making clothes for them. Now both Harry and Ron had to deal with revealing articles of clothing and a stubborn, overly smug Hermione. Any clandestine attempts of persuasion had ended up with a big fat nil.

Harry sighed and looked up, noticing a pair of eyes on him. A girl was shyly looking at him from across the pub, from the bar, and had a tinge of red on her round cheeks. Harry stopped the grimace before it crept onto his face and turned around, to face the roaring fire. Absently, he threw in a log.

He sighed again. He didn't _dislike_ the clothes Hermione had so _thoughtfully_ created for them – but the attention both he and Ron had gotten was troublesome. Harry's red-headed husband had it easy since he was 'taken' in the eyes of the village's youth, but Harry was very much single in their minds. Harry had thought that the attention he had gotten as the Boy-Who-Lived had been bad . . . but small village females were _scary._

Very scary indeed. He shivered.

To make things worse, the flirting and stares had escalated since he had been spending more time in the village and working in the local pub as a waiter. The manager, an old man called Barry, proclaimed he had never had so many customers in _all_ his days. That fact made Harry a little worried – they had come to Raeton to _hide_, not to have admirers.

Harry's gaze flickered to the ancient clock above the fireplace and he almost grinned. It was near the end of his shift.

'Oi! Harold! Come and have a drink with an old man,' a rough, loud voice exclaimed from the bar. Harry swung round and walked to the man, who was saluting him unsteadily with a half-full glass.

'Hey, Mr Gordon, how are you?' Harry asked, forcing a smile as he took the empty stool next to the man.

'M'fine. Have a drink, my boy!' Mr Gordon boomed, slamming his glass down on the counter. His sea-weathered cheeks were red and his eyes unfocussed.

'I don't drink, sir,' Harry said gently, but firmly. Green eyes shot to Barry's and he made a face. 'And I think you've had enough, Mr Gordon.'

The drunken man gave him a look that was a mixture of disbelief, resignation and slight anger. Harry pried the man's fingers from his glass and handed it back to Barry behind the counter. Mr Gordon gave him a weak, half-hearted glare, before promptly slumping down and falling asleep, snoring loudly within moments of the impact.

Harry sighed softly and got up, untying his apron as he went. He aimed and threw it into his open backpack – smiling triumphantly when it reached its mark. He quietly whistled to the music playing from the radio, pulling his bag onto his back and secured it.

'Harold, why don't you stay and have supper with me and my wife? It's late and the walk back to your cousin's house is long. Walking is always better when you have a warm, hearty meal in your belly,' Barry said, wiping a glass clean. He peered up at Harry through wild and thick eyebrows, waiting expectantly.

Harry let his face fall and he said, 'Sorry, sir . . . Jane's got supper ready at the house and she'll hunt me down if I don't go back soon. Maybe some other time, if that's all right . . .?'

Barry's face crinkled into a smile and he shook his head, 'It's all right, lad. Yeah, Sue really wants to have you over for dinner sometime, to properly meet you.'

Harry nodded and zipped up his jacket, which snugly fitted his frame. He heard a girl giggle behind him. A quick glance revealed another woman eyeing him out appreciatively. Harry looked away and sighed again, before saying his goodbyes to his employer and fellow waiters, ignoring the pointed looks from women by the bar. He set out into the chilly evening and walked briskly along in the dying light of the sun that slowly lowered down towards the horizon. Up on a grassy hill above the village, the dark-haired man stopped and admired the sunset.

Harry sat down in and amongst the swaying grass, taking in a deep breath of clear, sea air as he let all his worries drain from his mind and body. The one, simple freedom of seeing a peaceful sight like the end of a day had been denied him so long . . . maybe it wasn't without its risks – but it was worth it.

As he shifted his arms, a letter crinkled in his jacket pocket. With one lingering glance at sky and land, Harry pulled the letter out and stared at it as it lay in his hands. Ever since they had left the cave, Aberforth had had initiated a correspondence with them, though it was mostly one-sided. With the old wizard's help, they had acquired the means to get to Raeton and proof of their new, fake identities. The letters served the purpose of keeping the trio up to date with the happenings of the wizarding world.

Harry unfolded the battered letter and began to read:

_To my dear young'uns,_

_All is going well on my side and I hope, well, know, that it is the same for you three. It is nearly the end of the school year and I am astounded, as ever, as to large amount of Seventh Year students that creep into my pub when they think I'm not looking. Little buggers assume that I have no qualms, or morals for that matter, and would sell Firewhiskey to them for 'help with their spirits and exams.' Pah. I ain't going to give them the means to addle their brains – I've already had Minerva on my case in the past and it wasn't pretty. Well, anyway, that Sirius Black is still on the loose. No-one has gotten close to finding him, though some say he's been sighted at Hogsmeade, but I don't think it's likely. Dementors are about in the village – nasty blighters, if you ask me – so if in case of your highly unlikely visit, be careful._

_Regards,_

_Aberforth_

Harry closed the letter and hid it in his pocket once more, gazing out into the middle-distance. The sun was just peeking out over the horizon, nearly gone from sight. With a sigh, Harry let his head loll forward and his forehead pressed against his knees – his eyes unseeing as he thought. As much as Harry wanted to, he knew he couldn't change what was going to happen. Peter Pettigrew would go free and Sirius would escape into a life on the run. It was wholly unfair.

But the knowledge that if he did anything, he would lose not only his present existence, but also Ron and Hermione, was almost heart-stopping. That train of thought was always too much to bear. He was torn – his godfather, or his partners? He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to relive the death of Sirius – he had nearly broken the first time, so who knew what would happen on the second? Even the anticipation, the knowledge, was near unbearable.

But as he thought of his lovers' kisses, the feel of their skin and their smiles . . . he felt his heart clench. He loved them, with every thought and breath. He loved them so, so goddamn much. They had guided him back into loving life again and he was sick and tired of losing those he cherished . . .

He didn't really have a choice.

All the light of day slinked away with sun. Harry turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the rising moon. It was full and heavy, a pale lamplight yellow that was covered partly by low-hanging clouds. Harry felt the magic within him surge thrillingly at the sight.

_It is time. _

The dark-haired man stood, his head tilted back and eyes closed. With a hand, he freed his hair from its tie and then shook his head slowly, breathing deeply. He trailed a foot out in a circle, letting his body move round with the movement – before silently, softly making his way off the path and weaving through the trunks of the trees. As he walked, he took of his clothing without a thought of his hands' actions. He could only hear the music.

It sang in his blood, his ears and echoed with his breath and footsteps. Only once before, had he heard the earth's music, at the last full moon. Azadeh had told them that when the moon was in full-bloom, it was when the Guider had crested an amplitude of magic. Every magical creature felt it – the sudden frenetic energy of the source of life. Senses heightened, the werewolves freed themselves, glamours slid off true shapes and forms – nothing could hide.

A small breeze caressed Harry's naked, pale skin as he came into the clearing. Both Ron and Hermione were there, facing one another. They were the same, but different in way Harry could not describe. They did not feel human, but then again, neither did he.

As he reached them, they turned to him – their pupils completely black. He did not startle, as there was no time for that. The dark-haired man could feel the magic move inside and out of his body, in time and yet not. It was calm and chaotic, soft and hard, tangible and ethereal . . .

As one, they lifted their hands to the sky, to the moon. Harry noted absently that the skin of his right arm was almost translucent and that he could the blue veins pulse beneath. But his gaze rose to the sky and he knew nothing but the music.

His magic, the world's magic, _their_ magic swirled together, perfect and imperfect. Reason and worries fled their minds as they started to dance – following the music with their bodies, letting it move them as it wished and as they commanded. Instinct took over. The trees and ground broke apart – the sky changed into a mirage of colours and images that were incomprehensible and frenzied.

As they gave up their hearts, minds and flesh to the world and to the dreams – they did not know that someone was watching them.

xXx

**Author's Note: **Oh my god . . . I'm actually updating O.o such a strange occurrence with this story! But even if it was short, I hope you enjoyed it :) I probably will only be able to update this round about the end of January, as I have over stories to write for too . . .


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